Public Opinion
by Knyle Borealis
Summary: Wherever they go, Five-0 has an audience. What do the masses have to say about the team? A series of one-shots: stories told by those who have interacted with Five-0 first hand. Some crack, some fluff, some angst, and more. A look at the other side of the action [outside POVs].
1. Armed Robbery

**This piece came to me as I was re-watching the first season (yes, I am one of ****_those_**** people). I started thinking about how much I enjoy Five-0 as an audience member. That led me to wonder: what are a few of the general public's views about the team?**

**So here are a few accounts of those who have encountered Five-0. They're structured as eyewitness accounts, but hopefully a few general opinions will filter through, depending on the narrator.**

**An added bonus: these are all stand-alone stories. Even though I have a bunch of chapters planned out, you won't be left hanging if it takes me a while to keep uploading.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

**Knyle B.**

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******Disclaimer: Hawaii Five-0 is not mine! I'm only playing with it for a little while.**

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It was one of those things that you tell yourself could never happen. I'd always imagined that guns and robbers and terror belonged on TV or in other people's lives.

Well, there I was.

Huddled behind the stainless steel counter, I covered my head and tried not to cry. I'd never felt so shaken in my life. Not gonna lie—I actually thought, _I'm too young to die_.

And I was. Seventeen was nowhere near the final age I'd planned on achieving. Not that life ever went as planned. I shuddered and tucked my head farther under my arms.

A temporary job was about to kill me. Who wanted to die a waitress, even if it was a high class version? I certainly hadn't considered facing armed robbery when I filled out the application.

On the other side of the counter, a man dressed all in black paced up and down the center aisle of the kitchen. His gun gleamed just as brightly as the counters in the room: a sharp contrast with the dull black of his ski mask.

Absently, erratically, I wondered how he could stand to wear wool in eighty degree weather. I wondered if he was going to kill anyone—me, in particular. I wondered if he'd be nicer if I offered him some water. I wondered if he or the seven others with him would shoot me if I started hyperventilating.

I wondered when my heart had taken up residence in my ears.

God, I was scared. I could feel the shoulder of Casey, an assistant chef, pressing into my back. It was the only thing tethering me to sanity just then.

Casey was nice. He was a big young Hawaiian with laughing eyes and a wide smile.

Too bad the robbers had split his lip when he tried to stop them.

That line of thinking was doing nothing for me. I was going to completely lose it if I kept panicking. Of course, realizing that fact did nothing to help me calm down. I started to rock back and forth, leaning gratefully into the warm hand Casey placed on my shoulder.

There were five other employees in the kitchen with us. Only four of them were awake to panic with me.

Across from the counter where Casey and I sat, the manager sprawled limply in front of one of the refrigerators and the back door. He had been knocked unconscious when the criminals entered that way—at least, I was telling myself that he was unconscious. I stared at his prone form and did my best to glaze over inside my head.

Then he _moved_, to my inward rejoicing. I was startled out of my petrification by the motion, looking intently at his bloodied face in search of life. His eyes were still closed, though. Confused, I checked him over again, sure I'd seen him shift.

Then it happened again, and I realized that—while I wasn't imagining things—I had jumped to the wrong conclusion. My manager hadn't moved. He had _been_ moved. What I'd seen wasn't a result of him waking up. It was something else entirely.

The back door was opening.

Freezing, I gawked as the entryway was slowly pushed ajar. A tall, handsome man stood behind it, dressed in cargo pants and a bullet-proof vest. He watched my boss roll over out of the way of his entrance. My eyes fixated on the terrible, beautiful glinting of the gun in his hand and the badge on his hip.

The police. We were saved.

Well, possibly.

Suddenly terrified again, I turned to stare nervously at our guard. He was facing the front of the restaurant, watching his compatriots through the windows of the swinging doors as they emptied purses and wallets. The knot in my stomach relaxed infinitesimally. He hadn't seen policeman enter behind him.

Silently, said newcomer advanced on the unsuspecting gunman. Casey and I drew in a simultaneous breath of anxiety, aware that our coworkers were doing the same. It seemed like the short walk from the back to the middle of the kitchen had stretched into miles…

Arriving at the black-clad robber, the tall man reached out and slapped the gun down from behind, wrapping one arm around the other man's neck and covering his nose and mouth with the other. I jumped in astonishment; he'd moved in a blur, he was so fast.

The automatic rifle dropped from the thief's hands. He'd let go of it in favor of trying to dislodge the arms cutting off his air supply. The abandoned weapon hit the floor with a clatter, which my hyperactive senses seemed to create a ruckus so loud that I thought the roof was caving in. Yelping, I shrank back into Casey's arms and cowered closer to the counter, trying to make myself a smaller target.

Out in the restaurant, the other robbers heard the sound of the gun dropping. They whirled around and charged towards the kitchen as the policeman dragged his victim behind an oven, crouching and depositing the unconscious criminal on the floor. He quickly cuffed the thief's hands to a pipe as the first three burst in, guns at the ready.

Then I heard another commotion from the front of my workplace.

"Five-0! Drop your weapons!" a woman shouted. Gunfire responded.

I perked up. _Five-0?_ I'd heard of them. They were a special police force, weren't they?

I was about to peek over the counter to see the lauded heroes for myself, but the three new men inside the kitchen spotted the intruder first. Instantly, their guns were spitting lead; just as instantly, I was squeaking and throwing myself around to hug the closest, biggest substitute teddy bear that I could find.

I will pause here to swear that I do _not_ own a teddy bear. Or sleep with one. At age twenty-six.

I _don't_.

Casey tucked my head under his chin and covered as much of me as he could with his arms, a human impersonator of body armor. I reminded myself to thank him later. And promptly forgot—but a bullet ricocheting off a pan right next to your head will do that, I guess.

The shooting had intensified. The police officer was returning fire at the criminals. There was a shelf underneath the counter that went all the way through to the other side; I found myself peering timidly through the opening in curiosity. I saw the tall man as he popped up from behind his cover, firing off two rounds and dropping back out of sight.

One of the robbers cried out and fell to the ground as a result. I was too scared to be elated by the decrease in predators.

Not to mention too busy watching as my defender suddenly threw himself out from behind his counter and into the aisle, running and shooting simultaneously.

He was headed straight for me.

I yipped and ducked back into Casey's hold as the Five-0 representative launched himself into the air, rolled on one shoulder over the top of the counter, and dropped into a crouch on the other side.

_Right. Next. To. Me_.

I was definitely hyperventilating at that point, half-turned in Casey's embrace to gape at the crazy ninja-cop reloading beside us. Hearing me, the man looked over. He smiled, completely relaxed. My heart stuttered for an entirely inappropriate reason, considering the circumstances.

He was gorgeous.

And unquestionably out of his mind.

"Hi."

His voice was even, but nonchalant. The fresh magazine he pushed into his weapon made a soft clicking sound that seemed extremely ominous. I jumped as he reared up and fired quickly, keeping the last shooter at bay. And he was _still_ talking.

"What's your name?"

"Macie."

Casey answered for me. I was glad _he_ remembered how to use the English language, because it was certainly beyond me. I nodded just to show that I was still marginally functional.

The good-looking madman smiled reassuringly. "Hi Macie. I'm Steve. How about I get you out of this?"

That was a proposal I could get behind. Wide-eyed, I nodded vigorously, and his smile quirked up on one side—amusement, in a gunfight? Okay, the whole fearless-in-the-face-of-death thing was kinda hot. Did thinking that make me crazy, too?

The last gunman kept shooting, cautiously leaving the shelter of the cabinet he'd hid behind and stepping over the comrade that Mr. Five-0 had just taken down with his insane stunt. Eyes trained on the counter where the three of us knelt, the shooter walked forward slowly down the main aisle.

A faint whoosh of air pushed along the floor beneath the furniture. Casey and I stiffened, recognizing the sign of the door to the restaurant swinging open. The robber didn't notice it, too busy strafing the shelves above us with bullets and dodging the answering barrage from Steve.

"Come out, McGarrett!" he shouted roughly, unleashing a staccato burst of danger from his automatic rifle. "What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing, as far as I know," said the shorter, compact blond cop who had just stepped into the kitchen.

Wheeling around, the robber couldn't bring his firearm to bear on the policeman who'd snuck up behind him in time. He didn't even manage to get a glimpse of the man, actually, because as soon as he started to turn, he caught a face full of cast-iron and a few hours' worth of unconsciousness.

The new—and also handsome, in a different way than his fellow officer—member of Five-0 lowered his weapon. The blond had picked up a frying pan on the way in and let the gunman have it. After the blow, the final shooter's head rocked back, towing the rest of his body along with him as he tumbled to the floor with a graceless thud.

And that was that. All of the shooting was done, all of the robbers were neutralized.

We were safe.

Despite the crippling wave of relief busily making me useless, I made myself keep watching. Suicidal curiosity had kept me staring through the shelf at the action while it happened, and afterwards I found myself raising an eyebrow in respect.

The new guy swung a frying pan with better form than some of the pro baseball players I'd seen, and the ninja who'd preceded him…

Beside me, Steve McGarrett levered himself to his feet. He grinned at the man in a crumpled heap at his teammate's feet. "Is that why your eggs are so bad? You only know how to use a pan like a crowbar?"

"Shut up," the blond answered, stooping to put handcuffs on the man he'd knocked out. "If you knew the right way to use a crowbar—or _any_ tool, since all you seem to be able to do is attack people with them—you'd have fixed that damn car by now."

"It's just got a few quirks, Danny!"

"Stop assigning personality traits to inanimate objects!"

Confusion was rapidly becoming my dominant emotion. I slumped into Casey, shaking, while the two men moved to secure all of the downed criminals in the room, bickering good-naturedly.

I blinked, gawping. The arguing was clearly habitual. They were acting pretty much the opposite of what I'd expected from officers of the law after a shootout. And a frying pan clubbing.

Okay, I admit that I had never thought to expect _anything_ after watching injury-by-cooking vessel. I'd have to anticipate it _actually_ _happening_ first.

When the robbers were secure, the two men halted their squabble long enough to see to the innocent victims. Steve was smiling again when he leaned over the counter—the nice, encouraging smile that he'd reassured me with before.

"All right, Macie?"

I nodded mutely; he smiled bigger.

"Good."

Casey helped me to my feet and guided me out of the kitchen at the policeman's directive. The others came with us, and we stepped gingerly through the main room of the restaurant. The patrons and other staff had already filed out.

Seeing the rest of the building was a shock. I cringed at the bullet holes decorating the walls, the tables overturned, and the two black-wearing bodies lying nearby. My head swam. I leaned into Casey.

"Looks like you've got a good friend, there," remarked a young woman by the door.

I started. She was the one who had shouted for the robbers to drop their guns.

Instinctively moving closer to Casey's side, I looked her over. She was young, athletic, native, and beautiful. Not anything like I'd imagined from the tone of command she'd used or the rugged, brutal demands of her job.

Upon closer examination, I also noticed that she was responsible for taking down at least one of the robbers. She was still kneeling on his back, holding him down as he struggled against the metal gleaming on his wrists.

Even weirder, like the other two Five-0 personnel, she didn't appear to notice the trouble. Her demeanor was that of someone at ease and in control.

When I didn't respond to her comment, her expression softened. She glanced up at Casey's face, which I couldn't see. Whatever she saw there elicited a nod from her, making me wonder what Casey had conveyed, and then she called back into the restaurant,

"Hey, cuz, you got a handle on things here?"

I turned in time to see another man walk out of the rentable dining room. Four sullen, unmasked thieves marched in front of him. They were cuffed and silent, behaving under the watchful eye of the man's pump-action shotgun. Hearing the woman's endearment, I took in the latest arrival curiously.

He was tall, dark-haired, unmistakably Hawaiian, and attractive—which had ceased to surprise me. Maybe there was sort of rule that the people on Five-0 had to be good-looking.

Not to mention capable. The men that the man ushered in were all bruised and thoroughly subdued. One was limping, another had a gunshot wound to the shoulder, and the other two were both visibly ruffled and manhandled.

Upon the woman's inquiry, though, her "cuz" nodded, equally unperturbed. "Yeah. Steve and Danny are clearing out of the kitchen. We've got it."

As he spoke, the two other men walked in, dragging or leading their three conquests. The blond one, Danny, was had just finished muttering something as he backed through the doors. Steve, guiding the two robbers walking upright, smirked back.

"Well, then you should have made sure he could walk when you were done with him."

He ignored his companion's answering glare in favor of taking stock of the rest of his team, nodding in approval at the third man's bevy of prisoners.

"You take all four of them by yourself, Chin?"

I didn't hear the man—Chin's—reply. The rest of their conversation was cut off by the door of the restaurant closing. The woman had led Casey and me outside to the waiting emergency responders and police officers. The rest of the people from inside were already there, receiving treatment, giving statements, or just milling about.

I stared, feeling like I was seeing and hearing it all through a thick cloud. My whole body was shaking, and even huddling closer to Casey couldn't wipe away my chills.

Leading us over to the back of an open ambulance, the young Five-0 officer motioned for a medic to come our way. In the meantime, she focused on me, still smiling. "You don't look like you feel so well, miss, so I'm going to have my friend here make sure you're not in shock, okay? My name's Kono."

I still couldn't speak, so Casey took over, handing me off to the EMT when she came over. He remained standing close by while I was poked and prodded and questioned. While a different medical officer looked at his lip, he checked his watch; I heard him give a low whistle.

"That whole thing took you guys less than five minutes."

Still nearby, Kono shrugged, a bit embarrassed. "We would have gotten here sooner, but we were wrapping up a different situation from this morning."

He answered, but I didn't catch what he said. I'd completely zoned out, the day's events finally sinking in. One thing in particular was resonating in me: I would have probably died if not for Five-0's handiwork.

_Died_.

I was stunned by the enormity of that word. What if I _had_ been killed?

Passed on. Kicked the bucket. Bought a one way ticket.

That did not sound inviting.

Ergo, I shivered. I appreciated. I smiled.

_Five-0_.

Those people had saved my life. I let that fact permeate my dizzy head for a little while longer, watching soundlessly as Steve, Danny, and Chin herded the robbers who weren't in need of medical attention into squad cars and motioned for other officers and personnel to see to the rest. Kono went over, and the four of them met briefly by the edge of the area cordoned off in front of the restaurant, discussing.

The sight of Danny lifting the police tape jolted me out of my daze.

They were leaving. They had saved my life.

I had said nothing.

Jumping up from the bumper of the ambulance, where I had been sitting wrapped numbly in a shock blanket—scary that I would need a thick blanket in summertime Hawaii—I darted through the crowd and into the open beyond it. My courage failed me a good distance short of Five-0, though. I faltered to a halt.

They turned at my approach, watching me expectantly. Tired and frazzled and a little too deeply in shock, I uttered the only sensible words that had come into my head since eight armed men had invaded life and stolen my security.

"T-Thank you."

They smiled, the expression varied across their faces and yet absolutely the same. Danny ran a hand through his hair, Steve shrugged, Chin nodded.

Kono winked. "Anytime."

Then she turned and ducked under the tape. Her team followed, and that was the last I ever saw of them in person. Casey brought me home when the EMT's said it was all right, which was nice—I now have a boyfriend, in case anyone was wondering.

After he'd gone, though, I wound up sitting on my bed until three in the morning, processing. And shaking. Alternately giggling. For comfort, I might have hugged a theoretical teddy bear so tight that the buttons on his face left imprints on my skin, but something still felt like it was missing. I couldn't sleep.

The next day, I acted on a total whim. After a quick trip to the craft store, I exchanged a certain plush creature's bow tie for a little felt badge with two special numbers on the face. That night, hugging my new security device, I had no trouble falling asleep at all.

Why would I? I had 5-0 with me.

I've slept like a baby ever since.

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**So there you have it. I will be adding more chapters as I have time, but hopefully each can stand alone as a story.**

**Please let me know what you think!**


	2. Search and Rescue

**All right. Here's the next installment. It focuses on Kono.**

**I'm planning to feature each member individually as well as the team and a few combinations. I have a tally system to try and keep it all fair...hopefully it works. **

**Regardless, please give me your thoughts!**

**Thanks,**

**Knyle B.**

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******Disclaimer: Hawaii Five-0 is not mine! I'm only playing with it for a little while.**

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When my parents died, I was twelve. My life shattered. I lost everything I ever imagined I had…and gained a few things in return.

It wasn't a fair trade.

There's really no good way to become an orphan, not when you love your parents the way any child does. There's no good way to lose your hearing, either. Having both destroyed at once, live and in person, can be a bit damaging.

Trust me, I know.

But things would have been a lot worse without my Uncle Jared. Afterwards, he was the first one I saw when I woke up in the hospital. He was the one who stuck with me through it all, looked after me, and took me in. I've been living with him ever since, here on Oahu in our homey little condo by the beach. Time heals, and so does family.

Until they can't anymore. I came home from school one day to the scene of a tornado. My house had been ransacked, my uncle was missing. It was probably a miracle I thought to call the police before I started running like a madwoman through the neighborhood, searching for any sign of the man I'd come to love most in the world.

When the police got there, I was sitting on the beach, stuck. All of a sudden, I'd lost all energy, collapsed into a ball mid-run, and stayed that way, staring at the ocean.

It was my parents all over again: the mess, the disappearance. I rued the day my family had taken on a high-profile government contract for their import-export business. It was getting all the people I loved killed.

A gentle touch on my shoulder made me uncoil like a spring.

Throwing myself away from the contact, I scrambled back on the sand, too senseless to realize that the young woman there meant me no harm. She stayed where she was at my retreat, her posture and expression unthreatening.

I saw her lips moving, realized that I'd lost the microphone for my hearing implants somewhere in my frantic search. That was why I hadn't heard her approach me. So I switched to lip reading, watching her tell me that she was a policewoman with Five-0.

Her name was Kono. She and her team had been called to the house by a young girl—was I her?

I nodded, my lips forming words that I had only heard through electronics or faint vibrations ever since my thirteenth birthday—the day I had the surgery for my implants.

"My uncle is missing."

She nodded, holding out a hand. "We're here to fix that. What's your name?"

That stopped me. I frowned, listening to my head buzz in excitement and fear. I couldn't remember. I shook my head helplessly as I reached for her hand, overwhelmed.

She didn't look bothered by my silence. "Why don't you come with me, then, okay? I'll take you to see some people who can start helping you find your uncle."

I let her guide me back to the condo, walking carefully through the yard to the front, where several police vehicles were parked. I watched faces and mouths anxiously, trying to get a sense of what was going on. Had they found anything yet?

Kono took me over to a squad car and had me wait a minute while she conferred with an officer nearby. I watched their every word; he told her that they'd already spread my uncle's information to other officers on the island and that her teammates were still working inside.

She thanked him and pointed me out with a nod, explaining that she would take my statement. The policeman told her that my name was Cierra, which seemed right. After he said it, I remembered and started to think more clearly.

Impatience grew in me as I took in the—most likely meant to be private—exchange. They already knew who my uncle was, who I was. It was clear from Five-0's involvement that they suspected my uncle's government work had something to do with his disappearance.

Why waste time talking to me about it? I didn't want or have anything to do with that family-endangering business.

Kono came back over, the policeman went his own way, and I was left to panic quietly on my own. I'd never been so rattled. I'd forgotten my name, for crying out loud. When it was my parents, I'd been much more collected. I hadn't known what to expect; I could still hope, still be optimistic.

With it all happening again, I knew exactly what I had to look forward to.

Blood. Pain. Fear. Death.

And then I'd be alone. There was nobody left after Jared, not even cousins. My whole life would be stripped bare in an instant, finished with only fifteen years marked off the clock.

The policewoman's face filled my vision, concerned. I saw her lips moving; she must have said something that I'd missed. Desperately, I pushed at my fog, trying to center myself enough to read what she was saying.

It was no use. I closed my eyes, shaking my head and fisting my hands in my hair.

I felt words spilling out of my mouth of their own accord. "It's happening again. I can't lose him, too. Not Uncle Jared. I _can't_. I can't, I can't, I can't—"

Arms wrapped around me, surprising me, cutting off my hysteria. I started and looked up.

It was Kono. She'd pulled me into a hug and sat back against the squad car with me in her arms.

I didn't know what to do at first. My arms dropped slowly. I felt one gentle hand brushing my hair while the other pulled me back against her welcoming shoulder.

Next thing I knew, I was crying against her neck, holding her like a lifeline. She rubbed my back and kept stroking my hair. I could feel her chest vibrating with the words she spoke, undoubtedly comforting and reassuring. I hadn't listened to anything like that in ages.

"I can't hear you," I sniffled, trying to get a handle on myself. "I…I was home when they took my parents. I tried to stop them, but one of th-the men hit me with a crow bar. Now I c-can't hear without the microphone for my implants. I l-lost it looking for Uncle J-Jared."

She paused. My mouth snapped shut, and I waited in trepidation, horrified.

I had learned very quickly to never bring up that god-awful night. Most people couldn't seem to bear the weight of my reality. Expecting Kono to have similar limitations, I waited for her to pull away, to stiffen in disgust. She was bound to shy away from me, as every other stranger had done in the past three years.

Instead, she hugged me even harder.

The sudden show of acceptance was mind-boggling. I was dumbstruck. Only very few people had taken to me so openly after I became a cripple. I didn't know how to respond.

Under the circumstances, the kindness proved too much for me to process. Without conviction for mortar, my inner walls collapsed. I fell apart in her arms. Honestly, I hadn't lost it so completely since the night after my parent's funeral.

I don't know how long we sat there while I sobbed, but she never made any move to pull away.

Three days later, when Five-0 brought my uncle home and my world fitted itself back together again, I didn't wait for my new friend to come and find me. I left Uncle Jared's side for the only bearable reason I could think of: seeking out the dark-haired policewoman who had given him back to me.

Running as fast as I could to the front yard, I caught up to Kono as she headed out to her car. She heard me and turned, maybe thinking I was one of her teammates or another officer. When she saw me, her smile grew, her expression softening a bit.

In all likelihood, she expected a word of thanks, a brief goodbye—a conversation of some sort. But I was no longer a girl who felt chained by spoken language. She had shown me a better way to communicate the bottomless affection and gratitude I felt.

So I hugged her back.

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**All rightie. Another done. The next one is about Danny, I believe. And the viewpoint is a little less innocent than the last two have been...**

**We'll see how it turns out. ;)**

**As always, all thoughts are welcome! *handing out virtual pennies***


	3. Gun Safety

**Here we have a disgruntled "client" of Five-0. Seeing as their business basically consists of bashing the underside of society, I imagine there are quite a few grudges being held in Hawaii. This is just an illustration of one of them.**

**Warnings for some language-criminals are naughty!**

**Enjoy!**

**Knyle B.**

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**Disclaimer: Hawaii Five-0 is not mine! I'm only playing with it for a little while.**

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I'm not supposed to be in this hospital. I'm not supposed to by lying in a bed, loopy on pain meds. I'm not supposed to be cuffed to the railing with broken nose and a bullet hole in my shoulder. I'm _supposed_ to be halfway to Maui by now.

And I would be, if not for that damn cop.

I don't see why Five-0 has to be so friggin' uppity about everything. So what if a _few_ people run a _few_ businesses on the sly? When you gotta make a buck, you gotta make a buck. It doesn't matter how you pay the rent as long as you don't get evicted, right?

Well, that's what I say, anyway. My bosses have their own reasons, sure, but why take that out on me? I just move the product; I don't make it or sell it. It's not like I laced the damn stuff with the poison that the cops said was in it. But no, everybody's got to pick on the john behind the steering wheel.

I knew the end was coming, at least. That should count for something. I was smarter than the rest of the guys in our outfit. They thought we were untouchable, flying under the radar.

As if.

Crooks only get away with stuff for so long outside the movies. The trick is knowing when to cut your losses and move on to the next gig. As for the cartel, the writing on the wall had become clear enough for me to start planning an extended vacation, beginning immediately after I'd delivered the last shipment of the week.

I should have gone before.

Five-0 showed up just as we picked up the load, and then it was all over. They got my bosses first. My buddies on the moving crew were next, if they couldn't get out of there quick enough.

I was fast. I was three blocks away through the alleys by the time the pigs realized I'd cut loose.

I didn't stop there, either. Since I'd heard the stories about McGarrett, I was extra careful. I even went up a fire escape and into the loft of a warehouse to hide just to avoid a run in with the guy.

I was sure that I was safe.

And then the floor dropped out from under me.

The crates and nets that I landed on were not a very good cushion, especially when the boards I'd been standing on formed a layer between my back and their edges. Some of the floor I'd just taken out landed on my face, too.

I heard something crack. It hurt like hell.

Even better, when I recovered from the initial shock of the fall, I realized that I was tangled in the wreckage I'd created. Wrestling with the trap of boards and nets I was tangled up in, I managed to throw the folds off of my face, at least.

"Ooh. That doesn't look good."

Cradling my broken nose, I looked past my feet, stuck on my back. Some cop—_the_ cop—was standing a few feet away. He dropped the support pole that he'd pulled out from under me and nodded to the mess I was stuck in.

"Next time you might want to pick a hiding place that hasn't been condemned."

Seeing the bullet-proof vest and shining badge did not inspire confidence. I did, however, recognize that the holstered gun, compact build, and perfect blond hair—this pig was _not_ McGarrett—were definitely in my favor. I finally thought of the gun tucked into the back of my shorts. If I could get to it, I still had a chance of getting out of there.

Despite my spinning head, I tried to sit up and reach back, my hand reaching for the butt of my pistol.

The next thing I knew, there was a gun in my face. He'd pulled it out before I could even attempt to get mine free. Quickly recalculating, I shifted my hand to push off of the crate behind me, like I was trying to help myself get upright. My other hand flew up defensively while I pretended I was stabilizing myself.

"Whoa! Whoa! Easy, brah. I'm just getting up, here."

He was not convinced. "That's far enough, genius. Get both hands out in front of you and keep them where I can see them."

My heart was pounding. My stomach twisted. I was screwed. I was going to jail. Prison, actually. There was no way I was gonna survive in there. So I gave it one last try. What else was I supposed to do?

Nodding, I tried to put him at ease. I moved my arm forward slowly as I spoke, letting my hand stray in towards my back.

"Yeah, you got it. Anything you say—"

As soon as my fingers brushed against the pistol, I grabbed it and whipped it out, planning to put a hole right in his smartass mouth.

And then my shoulder exploded.

I was thrown back onto the crates with the force of the bullet's impact. The gunshot that accompanied my agony made my already sore head throb like a mother fuc—

"Hey, stupid! Drop it!"

I was still holding the gun? Limply, I relaxed my fingers, letting it clatter through a crack in the boxes. The detective came over, and then my whole world became very painful. Well, even more than it already was. I gasped as I was pulled off the boxes, deposited unceremoniously on the ground beside them.

I wasn't crying, though. And I didn't scream.

…Until he cuffed me. God, that hurt. I started yelling, calling him out for being the crazy, sadistic pig he was. Then running footsteps reached my ears.

"Danny? You in here?"

My captor stopped tormenting me for a minute, leaving my arms and shoulder alone. "Yeah. Me and Einstein are having a party."

Another cop jogged into view. I cut off mid-rant and froze.

_McGarrett_.

The tall, dark-haired SEAL came to a stop a few feet away. I stared at his combat boots and felt my stomach drop through the floor.

"That would be 'Einstein and I,' scholar." McGarrett must have been looking the place over. His tone switched from snarky to incredulous. "Did you pull him through the floor?"

"No, Steven. I am not you." The blond guy sounded affronted.

Bemused, McGarrett walked over. "Well, then how did he end up down here?"

I was feeling neglected. Or suicidal. Or out of my mind. So I wheezed, "He took out one of the poles."

"Oh did he?" McGarrett sounded like he was suppressing a laugh. "What an animal."

"Shut up."

While his verbal displeasure was directed at his friend, the blond cop did not exclude me from his ire. He stooped and grabbed my good arm, yanking me up to my feet. It strained all the way across my body. I am not proud of the noise I made as a result.

The leader of Five-0 watched my crabby handler assault me a while longer, walking along beside as the lunatic shoved me in the back—excruciating when you've been shot, by the way—to get me going ahead of him. I staggered out of the building with them behind me, bickering.

"You're still upset about the surfboard, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am still upset about the surfboard! Just because you have to drive my car every single time we get in it does not mean you are entitled to use whatever you find there as you see fit!"

McGarrett was still amused. "You hate surfing."

"So?"

"So you would have never used the board anyway. Or you would have and then been furious you spent the money on it the whole time."

"Oh. You were doing me a favor, huh? Using it as a gangplank in the middle of a car chase had nothing to do with your insane need for an adrenaline rush?"

We were walking out in the alley by then, headed towards a waiting squad car. I felt nauseous. Or maybe I was just dizzy. Or scared shitless. I didn't know anymore. "Uh, are you going to take me to a hospital? Please?"

They both stopped, reminded of my presence. The commander looked over at his partner. "We probably should."

The blond cop nodded begrudgingly. "I did shoot him."

McGarrett held up his hands accommodatingly. "Or you could keep him for a while, you know, vent a little more. I'm sure he'd be happy to let you work through the whole surfboard thing."

"NO!" I shouted, shaking my aching head wildly. "Just get _him_ away from me and let me see a _doctor_!"

They both raised their eyebrows at me. It was like they couldn't understand what the problem was. I regarded them both in horrified awe. Were they even human?

At last, the blond cop shook his head, turning me towards the ambulance that was still parked down a different alley, by the first warehouse I'd run from. I almost wilted as my terror abated.

As I was finally, _finally_ released into the care of some _normal_ cops and EMTs, my shooter muttered to McGarrett, "You know, for once I think a crook is more frightened of _me_ than you."

The leader of Five-0 shrugged. "Like you were saying, he's not that bright."

A passing officer overheard and snickered. Soon everyone nearby was laughing at me. I shrunk into myself and scowled, in pain, headed for prison, and blushing for the first time in my adult life.

That damn cop.

If I ever get out of these fucking cuffs, he'd better watch his back.

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**The next chapter is still a bit rough. I'll get it up as soon as I can.**

**In the meantime, what do you think so far?**


	4. Neighbors

**Oh my goodness. I'm a bit flustered, sorry. I've never had so many (wonderful) reviews so quickly on a piece. **

**tvj12, lauraeb, Gone2Far, sue2556: thank you all so very, very much for your messages! I hope I can keep earning your approval.**

**As for this chapter, you may be noticing that my word count has been steadily decreasing. I'm a bit puzzled about that myself, but I'm just going where the story takes me, not skimping out. I promise. **

**Also, for you fans out there who keep track of Five-0 off screen as well as on, there is a small reference to the cast somewhere in here. Cheers if you can find it.**

**And now, as always-Enjoy! **

**Knyle B.**

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**********Disclaimer: Hawaii Five-0 is not mine! I'm only playing with it for a little while.**

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The McGarrett's have been my neighbors for years. I couldn't tell you how long I've lived in the house next door. I watched Steve and Mary grow up. I was there when they got the news about their mother, and I stayed long after Mr. McGarrett found it necessary to send his kids away.

He was a quiet man from the beginning, always calm and focused. Unless he was playing with the kids, of course. I've never seen another person keep up with Steve in foot race or capture Mary's undivided attention with a story. John was a good father to those two, though of course he struggled at times.

Once they were gone, he drew into himself, retreating from the community, throwing himself into his work. Weight dropped off of him unchecked, lines etched into his face prematurely…but it wasn't my place to say anything, not after he made it clear that he wanted to be left alone.

I've always regretted letting him have his way.

The day he was shot by the terrorist, I was at home. The garage needed cleaning, and my radio in there is broken. The volume knob won't turn down. I didn't hear anything as my friend and neighbor was murdered. I didn't see anything through the hedge and trees I'd let grow in respect for John's privacy.

And then he was dead, and that privacy didn't seem to mean much anymore.

Steve came to live in the house after the funeral. I stopped by and said hello, but he hardly recognized me. Seeing as he had other things on his mind, I wasn't offended. A few weeks later when I was out on the beach, he walked over and said good morning.

By then, I'd gotten used to having a SEAL next door. Spotting him swimming in the ocean at the crack of dawn, throwing punches at dummies along the shore line, coming and going at all hours—it was getting to be routine. I was almost comfortable enough to consider offering my expertise with that old Marquis that Steve was trying to fix up…with about the same success as his father before him.

The day he approached me, I was surprised he remembered my name. My dog, Dot, knew him from the days when he was the only one capable of withstanding her antics. She's no puppy anymore, but having him around revived a bit of her old energy. Steve and I caught up on what the other had been doing while she ran back and forth for an hour playing fetch with him. It was a good day for everyone.

Of course, things didn't stay that quiet for long. I soon learned that Steven McGarrett was nowhere near as reserved a neighbor as his father had been. It wasn't that he was _out_ so much, though. It was more like the rest of Hawaii seemed like it was trying to get _in _to his house.

I could tell from the traffic of police cars in front of his house when he had a break in. The worst was when he was home and got attacked or hurt.

Once, a whole group of armed men put Steve's house under siege and tried to kill him and his team. I had no idea what was going on until Dot went ballistic and herded me into the bathroom.

After that, I found myself always on alert at night. Dot can tell when something is up on the other side of the tree line; she used to bark or growl until I went over to see what the matter was.

I've decided that an old man only gets in the way, though. Steve can handle a fight much better without me to worry about. I just listen to Dot and call the police—namely, his partner—when things get crazy over there.

Detective Williams is a character. He's been good for Steve, too. The commander needed some friends and reliable backup, which the Jersey native provides very well…along with a good dose of common sense, which any member of the McGarrett clan needs very badly from time to time. Dot has really taken to him, as well, so he can't go wrong in my book.

The other two on their team, Chin and Kono, are also welcome additions to the neighborhood, even though I see less of them.

With those three ready to back him up, I can finally stop worrying about John's boy. Time has turned him into a capable adult and quite a good neighbor, all told.

Still, I've trimmed the hedge so I can see through it again. Better safe than sorry, I always say.

* * *

**Did you find the reference?**

_**Hint: she likes Danno best. (woof)**_

**What do you think? Thanks again for reading!**


	5. House Calls

**Oh, wow. I just want to thank everyone again for the wonderful feedback and support I'm getting with this work. Some of you are guests, so I can't thank you personally, but please know your comments and encouragement have the highest value.**

**This chapter was a little ambitious for me. The character I chose as my narrator this time is, to put it politely, ****_intellectual_****. **

**I'll defend myself prematurely: I actually ****_am_**** close to someone who speaks like this, and I may or may not have started several long conversations with him to get the voice right (he knows about the character. He's "giddily enthusiastic about the whole affair"—his words). I've just speculated a bit on how the inner-speak might go as well.**

**Hopefully, it turned out well.**

**As always, thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think.**

**Enjoy!**

**Knyle B.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: Hawaii Five-0 is not mine! I'm only playing with it for a little while.**

* * *

I always assumed that getting robbed would enact a severe sense of paranoia upon me. It was an intrusion by the unknown being, an unwelcome infringement of my privacy. I abhorred the very idea of such a trespass.

Being a reticent creature by nature, I already knew that I preferred books and research to the exuberance of the adolescents who harassed me every day at my lectures. I entertained a certain fondness for them that sustained my teaching habit, but truth be told, the art of human interaction is one of my greatest weaknesses.

That's why I found the robbery of select items from my department so distasteful. The thieves, whoever they were, had not only wrongly appropriated priceless artifacts; they had put me in a position where conference with foreign individuals became unavoidable.

The theft had been detected and disrupted straight away, at least. A student working late in the lab had heard the thieves and called the campus guard. Their arrival had chased away the intruders, but not before several irreplaceable items had been spirited away.

After the police had finished processing the scene of the crime, it was left to me, as the department head, to complete the proper paperwork and reports with them. Called in early in the morning from my faculty quarters, I awaited the arrival of official personnel with no small amount of trepidation.

The policeman who was to be my liaison with the authorities arrived promptly. I took that as a good sign, checking my watch by force of habit as I departed from my office to meet him. It was shortly before eight o'clock.

The students milling about the halls of my building took great interest in the man's arrival, perhaps due to his motorcycle.

_Ugh. Two-wheeled, motorized transport. What a monstrous invention_.

I suppressed a weary sigh and grimace. First, I had to endure the racket of motorcycles throughout a youth spent on one of the island's major highways. As an adult on a university campus, I was next introduced to those horrible mopeds, which I struggled to contend with every morning in my endeavors to reach the office.

I watched the officer dismount the dangerous vehicle from inside the foyer, growing concerned. Was his chosen mode of conveyance a sign of recklessness? It would not do to entrust the university's affairs to a charlatan.

Nevertheless, I upheld my neutrality as I showed him to my office. While we walked, he informed me that he was Officer Chin Ho Kelly, a member of an elite task force run by the governor. His unit had been assigned to my case due to a recent string of similar thefts of artifacts throughout the islands.

He was very well mannered, despite his windswept hair and rugged attire. I elected to focus on the former attribute rather than dither over his appearance.

We discussed the items stolen at length: their nature, significance, and likely markets. Personally, I suspected private collections to be the ultimate destination of any piece from the various thefts he was investigating. The uniqueness of each object made the lot far too noticeable for public auction. Officer Kelly agreed and asked for my expertise in narrowing down buyers.

Strangely enough, I was _happy_ to help. It was nice to feel as though I was serving a broader purpose. The oddest thing, however, was that I felt comfortable with the Hawaiian fellow.

Unlike those whom I commonly encountered, he exhibited no signs of repellence while we spoke. He was not alienated by my…_cumbersome_ locution or outwardly cognizant of my interactive shortcomings. He was polite, concise, attentive, and diligent. I found myself wishing for some way to transfer his manner to the student body.

When he took his leave, he left me with his card and a promise to be available whenever I should need him. I found that quite fortuitous, in light of the situation that developed not a day after our meeting.

I remained late in the archives that evening, cataloguing and tidying up after the many strangers who had put the collections into disarray. Such work is often where I find the most peace; there is something calming for me in simple tasks such like labeling, sorting, and repairing the university's compendia.

I was just finishing with the Neolithic section when I felt a draft. That was absurd, of course. The only possible source was the door to the stairwell, which I had locked behind me when I entered. Moreover, anyone who might have an access key was surely sleeping at such an early hour of the morning. However, upon further thought…

I turned the lamp off at my workstation and quickly moved into the darker recesses of the archives, pulling out my phone. The policeman's card was still in my pocket; pulling it out, I dialed and waited with bated breath, sure I could hear someone moving around the room near the entrance.

It rang once.

"Kelly."

He sounded wide awake. I wondered what he was doing at that time of night to be so alert.

"Officer, I'm sorry to bother you, but we spoke earlier today. You said that if anything should come up, I could contact you."

"You must be the Professor. Yes, I remember. You've got trouble?"

Well, he certainly caught on quickly. Perhaps he could tell from my voice that something was amiss. I wouldn't be surprised if the bewilderment I felt was transmitting through my speech. There was also the baffling fact that I'd forgotten to tell him who I was. I was rarely so thoughtless.

Compounding that, I nodded in response to his question, then realized that he could not see me and put my quandary into words.

"Yes. I'm in the archives. I believe someone just broke in."

Instantly, his tone was grave. "You're sure? You've seen them?"

"No," I admitted, appalled that I'd theorized without data.

On a sudden burst of impulse—a phenomenon that I rarely have had to contend with—I crept deeper into the shadows and made my way into view of the door. It was propped ajar, the locking mechanism visibly broken. I felt the strangest sensation crawl across my skin.

"The door has been mangled," I whispered into the waiting policeman's ear, sinking back against the wall between two shelving units.

In the light that shone through the doorway from outside, I saw markings left on the concrete floor. In the distance, there was the faint sound of a lock turning and another whoosh of air.

"There are boot prints headed towards the antiquities where the robbery was aborted previously. I just heard the door to that section open."

On the other end of the line, I caught a series of noises that belied quick movement. Officer Kelly's voice was firm and professional. "Stay where you are, don't engage them. I'm two blocks away."

The line went dead, and I ended the connection, sinking down on the wall. It was genuinely horrific to find myself alone in such a scenario. Recalling popular portrayals of coping mechanisms, I closed my eyes and breathed very slowly and deeply. It did help, marginally.

An indeterminable time later—my body, however ridiculous the notion was, seemed convinced that mere minutes had become hours while I awaited Officer Kelly—help arrived. Located just where I had been, I opened my eyes when a soft sound drifted through the doorway. I froze. Was it friend or foe?

I found I was shaking where I stood. Aware of the cost of discovery, I was careful to keep my appendages from rattling anything that might give me away and smothered a disgruntled huff at my body's inconvenient reactions.

A shadow fell across the doorway. Automatically, I pressed myself back into cover and waited for its owner to progress into my line of sight. The figure that emerged received my immediate scrutiny. The shape was male, with an athletic stance and careful movements as he crept forward in a low walk, silent and watchful. I saw a gleam of gunmetal and a golden shield; coupled with the bullet-proof vest, my observations identified him as an officer of the law.

_Chin Ho Kelly_. I relaxed somewhat, easing forward from my position.

He caught sight of my movement and whipped his gun around, halting me instantaneously. I put my hands up, feeling them tremble, but by then he'd recognized who I was. With a nod, he lowered the shotgun and came over, glancing all around as he did.

His voice was urgent and so low as to be nearly inaudible. "Where?"

I could understand his press for information. The archives were enormous, stretching under the space of two campus buildings. The room I was in was small by comparison, but it connected to other sections of the catalogs through a veritable labyrinth. The matter would be resolved much more quickly if I just showed him, however much my instincts insisted that I should rid myself of the whole affair.

"This way," I murmured back, beginning to walk in the correct direction.

He moved in front of me, his long shotgun still at the ready. While grateful for the protection, I grew concerned for the safety of my life's work.

"You can't use that in here, sir. The artifacts."

He paused, recalculating. "I'll see what I can do."

I directed him with silent gestures to the place where I suspected the thieves might be. Sure enough, a light shone under the door. Officer Kelly rose up on his toes and took a peek through the small window. He looked back at me and nodded. I knew what that meant; the larcenous men had indeed returned.

Even as I experienced a ripple of rear, I felt indignation rise within me. The thieves were sabotaging my school and the islands' historical records without care. How could I resign myself to that when I was on hand and capable of interfering on behalf of the university's interests? No matter what my first inclination was when it came to conflict, I could not deny that I had certain responsibilities to uphold and a great deal of personal investment at risk.

Unaware of my inner dichotomy, the policeman assisting me motioned that I move back around the corner of the hallway that we had come through. Nodding, I retreated out of his sight.

And then I walked straight over to the next entryway of the room where the thieves were, made sure they were not in sight of the door, and slipped soundlessly inside with them. Officer Kelly was welcome to handle the humans as he saw fit, but I was going to make certain that no harm came to my precious collections.

Moving through the shelves towards the dim yellow light that we had seen from outside, I approached the men busily relieving myself and my academic cohorts of our livelihoods. As soon as I was near enough to see them through the shelves, I stopped and took a moment to analyze what I saw.

There were three of them: two methodically taking artifacts off the shelves or out of their drawers and packing them into padded bags, one silently directing them towards the desired pieces. The sight of them gave me pause. I pursed my lips and wrung my hands, suddenly baffled.

What had I planned to do about stopping such criminals? I was a shy university professor with absolutely no skills with which to physically engage them. I could outsmart them, given proper time, but the location of the heist left my hands mostly tied if I didn't wish to cause harm to the collection.

Before I could vacillate any further, the door slammed open. Chin Ho Kelly burst into the room, his gun at the ready. "Five-0!"

He didn't have a chance to continue. At his entrance, the men dropped what they were doing and whirled around, pulling various weapons out of their clothes. My heart performed a strange sort of palpitation of the sight of so many guns and knives brandished in anger.

Officer Kelly exhibited no such apprehension. At the first sign of resistance, he flew into action. The thief closest to him was the supervisor; ducking under his gun, Chin drove his knee into the man's midsection, pushed his gun hand out of the way with his own shotgun, and shoved him face-first into a table. The criminal dropped to the floor without a sound.

The other man with a gun couldn't get a clear shot while his comrade was dealt with, and then the policeman was on him. The handle of the shotgun made a sharp sound as it cracked across his jaw. He staggered, arms flailing, which allowed Officer Kelly to ram the gunman's arm against the edge of the open door until he dropped the pistol. Then the policeman threw his quarry against the door jamb and kicked the door closed on him, leaving the hapless villain to crumple into a heap in the doorway.

That left only a knife-wielder. The third and final thief lunged at Officer Kelly as he was turning away from his latest victory, arms wheeling. A blade glinted in each hand. Behind the shelves, I found myself captivated, frozen in place as I gawked at the altercation.

Having lost the element of surprise, Chin Ho was set back on his heels by the attack. Keeping both hands on his weapon, as he had throughout the fight, he pushed two knife strikes aside. Then he slid a bullet into the chamber.

I twitched, my eyes dropping to the bags laying at the men's feet and then circling quickly around the room. So many artifacts, all so fragile. An improperly discharged bullet could mean catastrophe. I couldn't let that happen. Darting out from behind my shelter, I entered the small arena.

The thief had his back to me, occupied with his assault on the policeman by the door. He was moving rapidly, doing his best to prevent Kelly from bringing the gun around on him. If he failed, the officer was sure to pull the trigger. If he succeeded, the trio of villains would be wanted for murder as well as robbery.

I didn't particularly want either combatant to achieve his goal.

At a workstation to my right, a drawer stood open, emptied and slightly ajar from the trauma of being plundered. As quietly as I could, I reached for it and separated it from the sliding mechanisms that held it in the desk. The wood was light and thin, but I knew from my studies that even the flimsiest of materials, if wielded correctly, could make suitable weapons.

Officer Kelly grunted, drawing my attention back to his near-silent fight. The thief had succeeded in inserting one of his knives between the seams of the policeman's vest. In response, Chin struck out with an elbow, cracking it across the man's jaw. He stumbled backwards.

Right towards me. Well, it was the best chance I was going to get, a small part of me observed. The rest of my person seemed to be a mixture of tension and terror. Regardless, I moved. Raising the drawer above my head, I waited until the moment that the reeling man was about to collide with me. Then I brought the front face of my makeshift cudgel down on his head.

Wood splintered and separated in my grasp, cutting my hands. Gasping, I leapt back from the oncoming weight of the suddenly limp criminal. He hit the concrete below us all with a heavy clunk. Then silence. I found myself immobile.

Chest heaving unnaturally and entire being perspiring, I looked up at Officer Kelly. He had his gun trained on the unconscious thieves. To my vast relief, its firing capacity remained untapped. The whole escapade had been managed without the discharge of hazardous projectiles.

My gaze went higher, finding the man's eyes waiting for mine. He nodded to the wooden pieces still hanging from my fingertips. "Nice swing."

I stared down at my fingers' contents, having trouble recognizing what the fragments were. The jittery effects of adrenaline were not conducive to productive thought. "Er, yes, I suppose."

Officer Kelly smiled crookedly and shifted, beginning to place handcuffs on each of the downed thieves. While he worked, he questioned me, "Are you all right?"

I nodded, forgetting again that he couldn't see me, and studied him distantly. He was breathing unevenly as well. That made me feel slightly better about my own disarray.

Then I saw the knife laying by my feet, still bloody. Alarmed, I stepped towards the policeman. "Are _you_ all right? How badly did he hurt you?"

Chin looked startled. "Oh. Right."

Finished securing the trio and patting them down, he bent his head and loosened the side straps of his vest, prodding the red stain beneath. I waited, rigid, for his conclusion. When he did not tense or become distressed, I started to relax slightly. Turning his face up to me, the officer further reassured me by smiling.

"S'all right, brah. It's barely a scrape. I'll be fine." Standing, he pulled out his phone. "I called backup before I got here, so they should be here soon. I'm gonna call my team in, too."

A siren drifted to my ears as I nodded in acknowledgement. The police had arrived. Their lateness puzzled me until I realized that the entire episode with Officer Kelly had only lasted around seven minutes. It had seemed like years. I heaved a large sigh, feeling slightly apart from my body. My brain was beginning to recede into a fog.

It was an unpleasant sensation. I was not used to matter triumphing over my mind. The shaking, sweating, gasping, and so on was all quite vexing. I was glad all over again that I had chosen to pursue intellectual pursuits rather than athletics or other activities throughout my life. The thought of all the bodily stress I had avoided was comforting.

Running feet and Officer Kelly's words as he called to his confederates punctuated my reverie. Soon, the archive was swarming with official personnel. I stood in the midst of the storm as the police carted away the unconscious thieves and began processing the scene. It was awful. My head swam. My lungs seemed to be acquiring an inadequate amount of air.

Eventually, my Five-0 police contact remembered me and guided me into the hallway, out of the mess. Grateful for the respite, I slumped back against the cool wall. Away from the melee, it was much easier to focus on calming myself.

Leaning against the wall beside me, Chin Ho crossed his arms and watched me critically. "We should get you checked out by one of the medics, Professor. I think you're having a panic attack."

"The diagnosis is sound," I gasped out, nodding. "Give me a few moments more, though, please. I believe I will improve, in time."

"Focus on your breathing," the policeman advised, his lack of disagreement the only indication he gave that I would get my wish. His sharp, dark eyes were reserved but compassionate. "Nice and slow."

As I complied, he looked back at the bustle of police work being done down the hall and remarked, "That was very brave, what you did."

My shrug was disguised by my still-heaving shoulders. Bravery was not a virtue that I concerned myself with. Practicality, logic, meticulousness—those were the aspects of my personality that I prided myself on. They served me best in my life and profession, after all. My actions that night had defied all of those traits. That didn't strike me as very admirable.

Still, a warm glow of appreciation spread through me at the compliment. "Thank you." I looked away, suddenly shy, and found myself confessing, "My father was a policeman on this island for thirty years. I always admired him, though I knew I would never qualify for the profession."

"Some 'qualifications' are more important than others," Officer Kelly stated cryptically. I could see him watching me intently out of the corner of my eye. "I think you would have made just as good a policeman as you have a professor."

Shocked, I straightened. "You really think—_what are they doing_?"

Ahead of us, a steady procession of police had begun to file out of the archive room, the robbers' bags in hand. With pieces from the university's collection inside of them. Looking over at them, Officer Kelly pushed away from the wall, sending me a sympathetic glance.

"Those bags are evidence. They have to be processed for use in the case against the robbers. The school will be given a receipt in the meantime."

"A receipt does not ensure proper handling and care by trained professionals," I muttered, coming forward in worried haste. "The whole trade is inequitable. Excuse me, officer!"

Behind me, Chin Ho Kelly shook his head and smiled.

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**There. It's not as well-edited as I'd like, but I felt bad for taking so long.**

**As always, Thank You For Reading! Any thoughts?**

**Happy trails,**

**Knyle B.**


	6. Monkeying Around, part 1

**Well, that escalated quickly. **

**Hi guys. I wasn't planning for this story arc to get so out of hand, but suddenly I've got over 7,000 words to deal with. I'll break them up into a few chunks to make it more manageable.**

**Once again, I'd just like to thank everyone who has taken the time to read and review. It's extremely kind of you.**

**Now, **

**Enjoy!**

**Knyle B.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: Hawaii Five-0 is not mine! I'm only playing with it for a little while.**

* * *

Why do the cute ones always have to be against you? You'd at least think living in Hawaii would make a guy more open-minded, but no. Not with _those_ two.

Good-looking spoilsports.

I guess I should have known to stay away from Five-0. Hawaii has been getting a reputation lately for being hard on artists. It was just too good an opportunity to miss though, you know?

There's nothing more entertaining than watching the law scramble around, trying to pin you down when you're the one feeding them all the wrong information and poking them in all the sore places.

Having a good cause helps too, of course.

I've been giving Uncle Same the run-around all my life; I figured Hawaii's golden crew wouldn't be any different than the ones I'd flummoxed in Vegas, Chicago, L.A.—we'll call that time in Jersey a tie, okay?

But then I got here. I started doing my homework and realized that I had my work cut out for me. Five-0's case record is impressive, even to a pretty little cynic from the shady side. Their history with my cut of crime isn't too shabby either—but then, there are precious few gals out there like me.

It would work out. Despite their portfolio, I was still confident that I could needle Five-0 to the bone while I handled my business in their state.

And it _was_ a hell of a lot of fun, while it lasted.

First, there were the introductions. One-sided, of course. I like to get acquainted with my opponents before I make them play by my rules. The week of recon before I got started was an especially good idea this time. Those boys take some getting used to, let me tell you.

The first time I saw them, I almost dropped my binoculars off the roof. I mean, _damn_. Some sights just make a girl want to straighten up and fly _right_. If I'd known what the squares had going down here at the equator, I might not have been so quick to go dark-side.

Ah, who am I kidding?

Still, imagining some quality time with McGarrett or his friends is a great way for a girl to spend an afternoon. Even that chick would make for a kickass sparring partner—or more, if I were the type. I can appreciate all kinds of yummy when I see it.

By the time I got down to business, I was geared up for quite a job. I knew the whole team pretty well. They were efficient, skilled, quick-on-their-feet, and always on their game. Working out how they coordinated and moved became a top priority right away; with this bunch, the only edge I was going to get was the one I made. I switched into serious mode—a tragedy, considering my surroundings, but some things are worth more than a vacation.

Dealing with their response time was going to be tricky. Like I said, they were fast, and McGarrett raised even my brow with his brand of driving. I'd have to disrupt their routines and regular channels as much as I could, if I wanted to stay ahead of them.

On the other hand, I had surprise on my side. At least for my introductory statement, they wouldn't know to expect me. I'd have plenty of time to do my thing.

For the rest of the series I had planned, though, I decided on a time-honored, classic strategy: divide and conquer.

I set up my dummy location first, just to be on the safe side. Five-0 had a habit of surprising crooks, and I did not want to be one of their take-downs. The bank I chose was a high-profile mark—tough, but doable. I had no interest in it. Its affairs were mostly above-board and had nothing to do with my goals. I just wired a few alarms to trip when I wanted them to and moved on to my real target.

The offices of the legal firm Iuto & Kemiki took up the top floor of a very pompous, black-glass skyscraper. Its defense lawyers held contracts with several known geo-criminals and illegal animal suppliers. They had skewed or sabotaged several cases to let those people walk free.

I broke into the building in the middle of the night—child's play—and got to work. The plan was to voice my objection to their clientele while simultaneously exposing their crooked business to the world. Yep, you got it: I'm a cyber-hacker-natural-rights-activist-pop-artist.

Sorry if you were expecting Catwoman.

While my specially designed program was downloading the files I would need onto my flash drive, I broke out my tool box. I had spent the previous three days secreting materials within the building, which I had collected on my way upstairs.

Up on the roof, I assembled my surprise and set it up for remote deployment in under ten minutes. That left me three more to burn, according to my schedule, so I went running back downstairs to grab my drive, crash their whole network, and screw up as many of their accounts as possible while subtly diverting a few dollars here and there to a hidden stash in Switzerland for expenses.

At that, my window of free time expired. Packing up my things, I made a hasty exit. Unlike any other thief, I went out of my way to trip every alarm I could on my way out, remote-starting several homemade smoke bombs that would bring the fire department running and activate the sprinkler system on the top floor.

I figured lawyers liked wet chairs about as much as they did a destroyed coffee machine—which, incidentally, I had also provided.

The authorities arrived several minutes later, rushing inside to find my handiwork. Having ensured that there would be an actual media presence at the site by morning, I winked through my binoculars and went home to celebrate with hot cocoa and three hours' sleep. Another good night's work.

The next day, there was a brief segment on the morning news about my fun. McGarrett even made an appearance, which was an unexpected plus. _Mm_, that man was photogenic. His partner too, although Williams saw the camera coming and ducked back into the building.

He obviously wasn't shy. Going by the look on his face when he'd turned around, he just didn't have time for the media's shit. I giggled and decided I liked him.

I was watching the broadcast live on my laptop. There was plenty of signal available from the apartment building whose rooftop I was languidly utilizing, and the espresso from the nearest shop was divine. Getting up and over to the spot meant for an early morning, but I figured it was worth it. I still had to finish the last bit of my project, after all.

Onscreen, a newswoman stood at the base of a building, doing the usual talking-head shtick. I let her get into the details and then started up my beloved computer systems, sending a command to the camouflaged devices along the edge of the skyscraper's rooftop.

The pop of compressed air being released could be heard through my speakers. There was a bit of a kerfuffle as the startled crewman fumbled the lens upwards, pointing it at the sequence of events I had started above.

Rather than listen to the newswoman exclaim or watch the shoddy camera work, however, I looked up and across the skyline. The firm's building transformed off in the distance. A definite improvement was being made.

Propelled by the air cannons I had installed, a great white expanse unfurled. Metal weights and its own gravity helped it fall and stay flat, protected from the wind by its position on the leeward side of the building. Opened up fully, it revealed an original artwork; a spray-painted green globe with black, clawing hands digging into it hung billowing in the wind.

In the bottom corner of the piece, a small monkey with a red spyglass cavorted gleefully. It was a ring-tailed lemur, my trademark—the signature that I used on all of my pieces. Coupled with the daring acrobatics my work entailed, it was why people called me Prosimian. Since I wasn't up for thinking in third-person, I'd personally given my mascot the title instead.

I grinned at the disbelieving ruckus coming out of my computer. Everyone was gawking up at the five-story canvas I had left behind. The first pacific act of Prosimian was underway. Fresh from the mainland, the raging, lunatic activist had come to town, and Hawaii didn't want to believe it.

_Well, ready or not, here I come_.

Giggling, I enacted the final phase of my plan and turned to the little blue computer sitting next to me, courtesy of the apartment on the top floor of the building I was sitting on. The little boy who owned it probably hadn't thought leaving his windows open would be a big deal on the eighth floor. Shows what kids know.

At least he kept his tech in good shape. I would put it back when I was done emailing all the documents I'd found to several public prosecutors with sound reputations, giving a few choice excerpts to a well-known newspaper or two, and routing it all through so many servers and accounts that tracing the source would give a robot a headache.

Subtlety and aggression work best when used in tandem, I've found. I have things to say, and I like to be heard. Making sure the right people listen and the right resources are out there is the important part, though.

Admit it: everybody's got a cause.

Dr. King made speeches. Gandhi marched. Robin Hood stole. Banksy does graffiti. I sneak, hack, and add pretty pictures when I'm done.

A bit extreme, sure, but that's just my style. And unlike the suits in Washington, I get stuff done.

Sue me.

* * *

**This woman has something distinctly wrong with her. I kinda like it. **

**On the other hand, has anyone heard of Zoboomafoo? It's an old kids' show that I loved. The lemur has made an appearance here.**

**Part two is coming, but what do you think so far?**


	7. Monkeying Around, part 2

**My fiery little activist fights on. **

**I'll just get straight to it, I guess.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hawaii Five-0. I am just playing with it for a while.**

* * *

My next job was three days later. I like to keep up a steady tempo. Planning started the minute I'd cleared the area of my last efforts. While the rest of Hawaii gaped at my audacity, I scoped out the next object of my attention.

The stadium was by itself an innocuous building. It actually helped the community, so I didn't plan on damaging it. Just changing the look a little. The revelation would take place just before the biggest game of the year, when the best crowds were available. This girl likes maximum impact.

While I prepared my materials, I rechecked the information I had ready. The stadium's main contributor had a personal island that he stocked with endangered species and imported, unwilling bedmates. My proof was already gathered; I had spent a few weeks in a little plane out on the Pacific before touchdown on Oahu. Homework is worth it, sometimes.

There was still a little snooping to do. I wanted some extra dirt, so I was going to see if I could back up my further suspicions about the sleazeball once he arrived for the day. He liked to get there early enough to watch warm-ups and meet with the coaches before every game; I would have plenty of time to remotely access the personal computer that he brought with him everywhere and have a look-see. Everything I had after that would be sent out simultaneously with the big reveal of my installment at the stadium.

In the meantime, Five-0 had been handed my case, as I'd figured they would. I was surprised how quickly they dug up my Swiss account; I only just separated myself from it before they got too close.

Then, while I was dropping off some bits and pieces for assembly two days before the game, I heard them put a notice out on my car over the police radio. I had to ditch it and "borrow" a new one to get back home.

They'd figured out who I was, which wasn't a big surprise. There was plenty of media coverage out there from Prosimian's exploits in Las Vegas, Chicago, L.A., and even the few jobs I managed to pull in Jersey before things got too hot and I had to split. I freakin' tagged everything I did, anyway. It wasn't hard to spot a pattern.

I was fine with that, although it let the mod squad predict my targets a little easier. All they had was a public persona, a figure known for its acts and agenda. They couldn't stop my plan for the stadium without more.

It went off without a hitch, naturally. I was able to put together my surprise the night before and secret it away in the rafters. Before the game started, I pulled a few more skeletons out of the bastard contributor's closet with some hacking and put it all into a neat little dossier unmolested. Then, once everybody was in their places, I hit the switch and bailed, planning to enjoy the fruits of my labors through YouTube videos and the news later on.

That time, my calling card was a giant, orange frame of a tiger made out of the swimming noodles that the mark's company made. In the middle of it, where the heart should have been, hung a red-noodle cage with a crouching noodle-girl trapped inside of it. Noodle-Prosimian hung from its tail with a red foam spyglass. Altogether, the thing was about thirty yards long. I'd put it together and strung it up in less than a half hour at two a.m. that morning.

I didn't have to use the dummy bank for a sideshow until the next job. By then, Five-0 had gotten disturbingly clingy.

Traffic on the police radio before the stadium disclosed that they didn't know who I was, beyond the fact that I was small, lithe, and had an affinity for concealing clothing, but they were doing an annoyingly good job of showing up at every possible target I tried to do recon at.

One night, for example, they beat me to the corrupt travel agency I was eyeballing. The safaris it led had several non-coincidental poaching incidents on official record, with more covered up. Thanks to Five-0, though, I had to hide on a fire escape while police jogged through alleyways below me.

At least I that meant I got another close-up of my favorite gangbusters. The preemptive screening was being directed by the Hawaiian guy on the team, Kelly. He and his cousin were manning a computer, talking about signal ranges and the devices I had used for my remotes.

I took a few moments to stare, figuring I was stuck in place for a while, anyway. I've always been jealous of the tall, willowy, athletic types, which Kalakaua epitomizes. And then there's Mr. Cheekbones.

_Hello, hottie_.

First, I'm a complete sucker for the introverted types, buton_ top _of that,he rides a motorcycle. Small wonder that the whole frickin' team was screwing with my ability to concentrate.

Listening as they walked right under me, commiserating, shattered my daydreaming. I had to stop myself from hitting my forehead against the railing.

I was in trouble.

They knew how close I had to be to set off my machines. They had identified the few parts that I hadn't made from scratch or brought with me and were working on tracing who had bought them. In other words, they were _close_.

Frustrating.

Luckily, I thrive under pressure. I knew that the precautions I had taken while preparing for my previous activities were enough to keep them at a distance for a while longer; every purchase or possible loose end was kept discrete and vague for a reason. All my projects were handled with gloves on from start to finish and kept in a clean space before display.

I wasn't a boy scout, thank goodness, but I could see the value in constant vigilance.

I had a few days cushion to work with, so I got busy. Once I had finally gotten things together at the factory I wanted to mess with—two days behind schedule, thanks to Five-0's nosiness—I suited up that night and went out.

The company that owned the factory made canned pet food. They were _not_ choosy about what went into their product, which had spelled disaster for a good many species that were decidedly not the whitefish advertised on the label—dolphins, sharks, seals, and even whales.

On the human side of things, the fat cats had a history of cheating their indigenous fishermen and kept factories overseas with horrendous working conditions. A few of my contacts there had put me on the scent and provided all the info I needed for my exposé segment.

As I got to work that night, I kept a close ear to the police radio. Just to be safe, I remote-activated the disturbance I'd planned at the bank, certain that I'd dog-eared it with enough of my trademarks that they'd take it seriously.

The hacking was slow that night. Getting past security was a cinch, but their mainframes were glitchy and outdated. I swore vengeance about two maddening minutes in, plans forming in my mind for the demise of every damn one of their computers.

The installation went even worse. I was putting it up in the dockyard next door, a huge sculpture of a dolphin caught in a net hung by two of the cranes used to lift cargo with Prosimian trying to unravel the weave from his perch on the dolphin's fin.

I know my way around heavy equipment, but like the computers, the on-site stuff I had to work with was in bad shape. By the time everything was in place, I was ten minutes behind schedule.

I went inside again to collect my flash drive and gear from the terminal. My mood, to speak politely, had blackened considerably throughout the evening. I was about ready to put my fist through something. To make myself feel better, I scrambled every electronic system I could reach from the main network and messed up the alphabetization in the main filing room.

It did help, a little. More so after I'd left a nasty note on the desktop of the head of the IT department and put tar on the underside of the all the guy's door knobs.

The only computer that I'd managed to make headway on was in an underling's office. Whoever he was, his chair smelled like talcum powder and he had way too many bottles hiding in his drawers. Still, he knew how to run a friggin' debugging program and actually _had_ on occasion, so I decided to cut him some slack in the first impressions department.

I went back there to grab my things when I was done building the credibility of "Hell hath no fury…" It was well past time to go, however satisfying my tantrum had been.

Just then, an unwelcome sound drifted through the building. I immediately froze where I was, flash drive halfway to my pocket. Somewhere down on the first floor, a door had opened. Stealthily, I shoved my things into my pack and shouldered it, creeping out onto the dark balcony that ran around the main factory space.

A flash of light greeted my eyes. The police? I tensed, ready to run, and scanned for more signs of interference. Only one beam from a handheld flashlight shone down below. Its holder seemed to be alone.

I frowned. Cops didn't fly solo, and it wasn't the night watchman. That old man never left his viewing box. He was in the midst of a nap, anyway, and even if he woke he still probably wouldn't realize that I'd looped all his video feeds.

_Then who the hell_…

"Five-0. Put your hands where I can see them."

Oh. Of course. Silly me.

* * *

**Suddenly, FanFiction has switched fonts on me. **

**How do I fix it? ****_Should_**** I fix it? Ah! It's fixed!**

**Oh, and hello. Thank you. **

**I must keep typing.**


	8. Monkeying Around, part 3

**So, it occurs to me that I never warned you guys about this narrator's rough edges. I'm sorry-about the swearing, and the inappropriate comments, and all the other generally annoying things about her. After the last guy, I just felt the need to come up with someone a little more...self-confident.**

**Yeah, I'm a person of extremes. Like her. But not.**

**Anyhoo, I've got more editing and posting to do. Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think!**

**Cheers, and Enjoy!**

**Knyle B.**

* * *

Five-0 had found me.

_Well, shit_.

Completely disregarding the low order from behind, I launched myself forward. The railing was a dark blur beneath me as I curled over it, diving headfirst into the open space that was the factory proper.

"Hey!" I'd caught my almost-capturer by surprise. Raising his voice, he called out, "Danny, lights! Coming down!"

The flashlight below swung around as I ended my free fall. Some cables and ductwork were just beneath the second floor; I grabbed ahold of a line and swung myself onto the top of a piece of equipment while the two policemen were orienting themselves.

Not stopping, I ran across my perch and clambered down into the shadows on the ground, sprinting for better cover. I knew the layout of the building by heart, allowing for my speed, but if "Danny" got to the switchboard before I was out of sight, I would lose my advantage.

Danny. That meant Detective Williams was on the ground, and I knew too well who his partner was: SuperSEAL McGarrett.

So, great. I had the dream team on my ass—and _not_ in a way I would have liked.

Tucking my head, I dashed into the hallway that led to the offices and smaller rooms, my special shoes making barely any sound. Absently, I noted that the commander's rugged good looks matched the voice I'd heard very well. Shiver-inducing. A girl could dream all day...

Behind me, the lights went on. I cursed inwardly and ducked into a side-corridor, well aware that the rest of the building would light up next. I

_Should have cut the power_.

The stairwell echoed with running footsteps as I passed it. McGarrett was on his way down. I took a few more turns and opened up the throttle, headed for the side door.

More footsteps, coming from a different hallway.

_Damn_.

Cut off by the approaching Williams and trapped by the SEAL about to turn the corner behind, I threw myself through the only unlocked and open doorway in the entire building, closing it silently behind me and throwing the bolt home.

Thank God the slob who worked in the little box had been too lazy to follow company protocol on his way out. Wading quickly through his squalor, I leapt up on top of a cabinet in the corner closest to the door to hide. The angle through the window beside the door would prevent anyone from looking up and seeing me, as they might had I chosen any other place in the room to wait out the coming powwow.

I listened silently as both men entered the hallway and saw me gone. They checked it over, undoubtedly cutting very fine figures as they worked. That time, I didn't particularly lament not seeing them. Once I was out of there, safe in my nest with my mug and my pillow, I could gripe about missed opportunities.

Until then, I would have happily settled for a quieter heartbeat. I nearly jumped off my perch when they rattled the doorknob.

McGarrett's voice drifted through the wall, sounding frustrated. "There's nowhere to go."

"Evidently there _was_, a second ago," Williams pointed out, coming closer. "There're only two ends to this hallway, and we just came from them. Are all the rooms locked?"

"Yeah."

The doorknob rattled again, like the detective didn't trust his partner's assessment. I closed my eyes, breathing carefully. They were right outside.

"Well, on the bright side, I was right," the commander remarked offhandedly. His voice was moving away, presumably because he was looking through the windows of the offices down the hallway. "The bank was a screen."

"Yes, congratulations, you're very smart," Danny muttered.

He had remained outside my hiding place. There was a note of preoccupation in his voice that made me nervous. I shifted silently, coiling my muscles and mapping out some—very limited—contingency plans should the two men decide to break in and check more thoroughly.

If they did set their minds on having a closer look, there was nothing I could do about it. I'd seen McGarrett do some awful things to doors in the short week that I'd spent checking the team out. The cheap lock on the one below me was hardly worth the effort, if he decided he was coming in to visit.

As I looked up, a grate caught my eye. My heart soared. A vent, right over the door. Without another moment's hesitation, I plucked the screwdriver off of my belt and got to work.

Miraculously, I had found the only piece of hardware on the whole site that didn't squeak like a dying mouse when I touched it.

_Hallelujah_.

I left one screw in, using it to hold the grate up and pivot it out of the way rather than dropping it to the ground. The duct beyond it wasn't big enough for most people to fit, but I had made use of my diminutive stature in similar situations before. Sliding my pack up ahead of me, I lifted myself up and slid my feet in, straining not to make a sound.

McGarrett and Williams still felt too close. I was farther away, but not in the clear. In a moment of inspiration, I dug out the small signal jammer that I kept handy, flicking it on. Then I set it down on top of the cabinet where I had just been.

It was unlikely that either the detective or his reckless leader had thought to call backup yet—for all that he played the adult, Williams was still slowly succumbing to his buddy's bad habits. Hopefully my gimmick would slow them down some more.

"Steve. I heard something."

_Uh-oh. Time to go._

Reaching down, I swung the grate back into place and shuffled away from the opening as fast as I could go.

The door crashed open, kicked in by a formidable-looking combat boot. I smothered an involuntary squeak of surprise and made myself stay very still, afraid to make another sound. From my paralyzed position, I could still see through a corner of the vent, the angle showing me deeper into the office. McGarrett filed in with gun drawn, securing the small space.

When he was done, Williams relaxed in the doorway and flicked the light switch. Then he leaned against the jamb with his arms crossed, irked.

"Do you want to be the first one shot in the head one of these days, or do you just have a thing about making me follow you around?"

McGarrett looked back at him, lowering the gun. I wished I could see his expression, but the top half of him was out of view.

"You took point on the forgery thing."

"So I have to wait around for you to get yourself cuffed to a statue before I can walk through a doorway without looking at the back of your head? Fills me with optimism."

Pushing off the door, Williams entered and looked around, joining his partner in their survey of the room. They seemed well at ease hosting a conversation while the conducted a search against a possibly armed—I never carry a weapon, not that they'd know that—fleeing criminal. I fought the urge to smile.

McGarrett kept his voice neutral. "There was that heist at the mall."

"Nope, don't go there," Danny cut him off.

Losing the battle with my lips, I settled for covering up my grin with one hand. The blond cutie used his hands a lot when he talked. The stereotypical Italian, but not. And his accent sounded more east-coast than McGarrett's navy-tinged island speak. Hadn't I read a file on him that said he transferred from somewhere? North, I thought…

"Off-duty doesn't count, and anything that has to do with my daughter being around criminal activity is _not_ up for consideration."

"You didn't tell me Grace was there."

I detected a new edge to McGarrett's voice. It sounded like his partner's little girl had a second male figure in her life who was very concerned with her welfare. Lucky babe.

Williams sighed, coming over to stand in front of the closed door. "She wasn't, really. She was in the food court with friends; I was on my way to pick her up."

"I guess I know what really happened to that guy's face, then." There was an undertone of dark humor in the commander's voice.

"He walked into a pole," Danny mentioned without inflection, crouching where he stood.

"Yeah, of course. And the pole hit him back. Multiple times."

As he spoke, McGarrett walked over to stand by his friend, looking over his shoulder at whatever was on the ground that had caught the detective's interest. I began to get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Williams was suddenly back to his snappy self. "Yes, Steven, that's what happened. Read the report. Now get out of my light and tell me what you think of this."

McGarrett obeyed, crouching down as well. "The carpet's lighter here." He ran a finger over it. "It's dusty."

I moaned in my head. Oh, no…

"Yep. Lots of dust on an otherwise clean carpet—which, by the way, is incredible, looking at the rest of his dump—and all of it fell in a perfectly formed square."

He leaned back so the shape of the stain became evident. For a beat of silence, both men looked down at the patch of dust that was directly below the entrance to my hiding place. I saw the glance they gave to each other and started tensing the muscles in my body, preparing for a rapid retreat. It was only a matter of seconds until they looked up and saw the grate.

Actually, McGarrett didn't look up at all. He just exploded off his haunches in a vertical stretch, grabbing the vent's cover and yanking it off the ceiling.

I couldn't contain my yelp that time. Scurrying backwards, I scrambled for the first four-way intersection, backed past it, and then bolted headfirst off to the side, snatching my bag as I went.

It wasn't a moment too soon. Hearing my activity, McGarrett leapt up again, catching the edge of the opening with one hand. That was sufficient for him to pull his head and gun arm through the opening so he could sweep in both directions, looking for me. Yeah. He was that ripped.

I watched his blurry reflection in the side of the duct I had taken shelter in. Hot _damn_. My eyes closed in utter exasperation. Good God, working against this guy was killing me.

But there would be time to whine about female frustrations later. For the moment, I moved ahead at a quick army crawl, no longer concerned about keeping quiet. McGarrett heard me and dropped back down, muttering urgently to Danny. Undoubtedly, they'd be looking nonstop from then on. They had a lot of ductwork to check if they wanted to find me, though, so I liked my odds.

Recalling the blueprints that I had glanced at that morning—did I mention my ability to memorize whatever I felt like for twenty-four hours?—I took a few turns and then slid carefully down a vertical shaft. When I hit the bottom, I stopped myself before the fan spinning lazily below and knocked out the huge grate on my side.

After I'd climbed out of the makeshift elevator, I slipped into the depths of the dark room I had entered—the boiler room, to be exact. From there, I knew of several escape routes and even more obstacles that I could make use of , should Five-0 find me before I got out. Knowing a standard industrial basement, I expected to find a few bonus tools on the way as well.

Much more at home in such a useful environment, I trotted forward at an easy gait, heading towards the nearest exit.

* * *

**I'm almost positive that the next chapter will be the last for this arc. So long, Prosimian. Well, not just yet.**

**I'll see you guys (yes, you, lovely reader) soon!**

**Knyle B.**


	9. Monkeying Around, part 4

**Ha-ha! Success!**

**The final chapter is here at last.**

**For those of you who were enjoying the variety here, I'm sorry about the prolonged arc. My muse, which previously has held me to 970 words, suddenly went nuts. I'll try to get things under control next time around.**

**In the meantime, here's the end of Prosimian's account. I hope you've all been enjoying her spunk, but it's time to move on.**

**As always, please leave a note if you like what you see.**

**Enjoy!**

**Knyle B.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: Hawaii Five-0 is not mine. I am only playing with it for a little while.**

* * *

Noises from the stairwell had me scurrying for cover. Luckily, the mass conduit of pipes and metal frameworks running down the ceiling of the hallway overhead had plenty of room between it and the concrete above. I slipped into the gap and settled just as McGarrett and Williams came into view.

At least in the basement a little displaced grime from above would go unnoticed.

I remained perfectly still as the two policemen walked towards me, their low words becoming distinct as they passed.

"What do you _mean_, you think you know who it is? That didn't seem like a good thing to mention before?"

"I just _remembered_, Steven; keep your cargo pants on. It was a long time ago, and it wasn't my case. I only thought of it because the day the lead man asked me to consult on it, I went to question a woman who disappeared."

I could hear the raised eyebrow in McGarrett's tone. "You went to question a missing woman?"

"_No_, she went missing when she saw me coming," Danny stressed. "Vanished right out of an empty hallway. Next thing I knew, the whole mess was over. Prosimian the psycho artist left town for good."

"With her, you think."

The commander was interested, I could tell. Which didn't mean as much to me as it maybe should have, because I was distracted by a startling recollection.

_Jersey_.

Detective Danny Williams had come to Hawaii from New Jersey, I recalled. New Jersey, where I had my first and only face-to-face run-in with a cop investigating my work.

That cop had been blond. He was compact, fit, and good-looking, if there was any truth to be gotten from the split-second glance I got of him out my sixth-story window and then again as I exited my apartment.

I hadn't run until my secret camera in the stairwell showed him coming for my floor, and by then it was late enough that he saw me fleeing. Not willing to be a person of interest or even mentioned on record at all, even if it meant abandoning my current project, I bolted completely out of the city.

At the time, Vegas seemed like more fun, anyway.

But that was then, and there I was later, stuck not five feet away from the one man who had possibly seen my face and was probably smart enough to tie me into our meeting in Jersey and my activities in Hawaii. My life had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

_Perfect. Wonderful. God-Fucking-DAMMIT_.

But he was still talking. "Actually, I think she left _as_ her."

His partner looked over at him sharply. "_She's_ Prosimian? Do you remember enough for a description? A name, contact, anyone?"

"How about we just find her here so we don't have to worry about it?" the detective suggested.

By then, they were walking out of hearing range. I'd heard more than enough, anyway. It was time to get out. Quickly. Post-haste. _Now_.

Leaping from my hiding spot as soon as they were around the corner, I ran back into the boiler room. Exit plan B would have to do; there was no way I was going anywhere near those two men again that night—

"Stop right there."

A tall figure had stepped out of the shadows in front of me, and before I could turn and dart away, the lights flicked on. Finished illuminating the room, a second, smaller person walked up behind me, blocking my way back. I skidded to a halt, panicking.

_Oh, shit_.

Motionless, I bit my lip under my mask and deep hood. Ninja-skills or not, there was no way I could dodge bullets from the two guns pointing my way, not at that range.

I was screwed.

In front of me, McGarrett kept his gun trained on my hidden face and ordered, "Hands where I can see them, and don't move."

I did as he said, listening to Danny holster his sidearm and walk up to me. Strong, warm hands relieved me of bag and then ran quickly over my curves, reaching around to unclip my utility belt and pull the lock pick set out of the top of my boot.

Then came the worst part. He pulled my arms down and slipped handcuffs onto my wrists behind my back. I cringed away from the cold metal. I _hated_ being tied up. Finally, his fingers closed around my hood and jerked it back, pulling the mask off my face.

The air was cold against my skin. I felt naked, but I didn't let it show for a second as Williams walked around me to stand next to his partner. Both stared.

The first thing I did when he went in front of me was slip the pick out of the waistband of my pants. With it in my hand, I found myself suddenly calm and composed. As I started to work on the locks of the cuffs, I smiled at them.

"That was pretty friendly, Jersey."

The detective started, looking hard at my face and figure. My answering expression made him blink and look away, embarrassed. Poor policemen and their ethics. They were always easy to get uncomfortable. It was good to know I still had the knack for it.

"You do know me, then. It really was you in the tenement," Williams stated, quickly recovering enough to look me in the eyes again. "You were in New Jersey when Prosimian was there."

I was impressed that he could withstand the innuendo. Most "good guys" didn't have thick skin, but he was steel underneath, for all that he usually acted high-strung and anxious.

I nodded approvingly, smiling wider. "Mm-hm. And I ditched you there, too."

He thought a moment, frowning. I let my smugness radiate as his bemusement reached me. The cuffs clicked open behind my back, the noise muffled my jacket and overpowered by the rattling machinery all around.

_I know something you don't know…_I sang in my head.

Blue eyes widened all of a sudden. "Uh-oh."

Alarmed, McGarrett looked over, his gun still aimed for my chest. "What?"

Danny gestured at me explicatively. "That is not a good look."

"Why not?" The commander eyed me doubtfully, observing the same relaxed confidence that had raised Williams' hackles.

I _was_ at ease. Not only had I beaten their restraints, I'd just remembered a convenient fact about the building I was in, and I was certain that I could use it to get out of there. I just needed them to stay off-balance for a little while longer…

"It's the female equivalent of the cat about to eat the canary," his friend explained.

"I don't see it."

"We're the canary," Danny added helpfully.

McGarrett frowned at me. I repressed laughter.

"There's no need for that," I chided him, pretending offense at his seriousness. It was mocking, but his sense of humor was trustworthy, for a cop. "We've got a little while longer to enjoy each other's company. Then, sadly, I have to go."

They didn't know what to make of that. I enjoyed their confusion as the final few seconds that I had been waiting for elapsed. Then…WHOOSH.

_Showtime_.

The boiler room suddenly came alive as its timer kicked in, beginning the cooling cycle for the whole building. In reaction, huge jets of steam and mist shot down from the rusting connections overhead. In an instant, the open space where we stood was obscured by water vapor.

Taking advantage of the fog, I tucked my unlocked cuffs into a pocket and took off into the maze of steelwork. Five-0 was right behind me, but there were too many small places where I could fit and they couldn't. Soon, I burst out into the dark night, running off into the shadows and safety.

I'd lost them.

A bit giddy and a lot rattled, I headed straight for my closest bolt-hole. I was in dire need of new supplies, a shower, and reassurance that there weren't any tall SEALs sneaking up behind me—or clever blond detectives. That night, I slept fitfully, constantly awaking to check the locks and monitor the cameras.

By the next day, it was clear to me that Hawaii was no longer hospitable to my kind. Regretfully, I packed up my things and prepared to depart covertly. I had a few favors to call in with a local merchant; I wasn't worried about getting to the mainland.

I did, however, feel bad about not saying goodbye. So, late in the afternoon, there was a final alert put out about the "psycho activist's" activities. Five-0 cleared out of their headquarters in minutes, rushing out to catch me in the act of sabotaging the illegal-safari travel agency that Kelly and Kalakaua had scared me away from before.

As soon as they left, I entered. My bright red sundress hadn't attracted the kind of attention that I wanted to avoid as I made my way through the palace. Neither had the brightly patterned scarf tied around my fake hair or the tall heels on my feet. People couldn't _help_ but see me when I was dressed that way, but they only recorded what I was wearing, not my actual features.

There were many ways to escape notice when you were on the run. One of them just happened to be being as noticeable as possible.

I'd memorized all the camera angles, so I kept my face turned away from each of them, taking the route that led me past the least amount of recording devices and drew as little unknown watchers as possible. They'd still know too much by the end of it, but I didn't mind as much as I should have. I really did like those guys.

Five-0's space was nice: organized, streamlined, and homey. Just as I'd thought it would be. When their hallway was clear of traffic, I waltzed right in and deposited my parting gift on the fancy computer-table, forced to stop and admire the gadget for a moment. Man, did those kids get _toys_.

Then I turned around and strutted right out of that building, melting into the city with the rest of humanity. When McGarrett and his teammates returned that evening, empty-handed with another of my stunts to deal with—I actually did a thorough job on the travel agency, complete with an animal-print-painted jeep parked midway through the wall of their lobby with a toy Prosimian behind the wheel—I was on a boat headed for Florida.

And so here I sit a day later, watching the ocean speed by.

I wish I could have seen their reactions when they walked in and saw my surprise. I'd certainly spent enough time on it to earn a little reward. I'll just have to settle for delayed returns, I guess. Without a doubt, I know Five-0 will put my delivery to good use.

The large stuffed monkey was the softest I could find, since I figured it might be passed on to the little girl that McGarrett and Williams had talked about. There was a picture on the blond man's desk that I had stopped to admire; someday, Grace is going to be just as delectable as her father, I'm sure. Until then, she has plenty of good people to help her grow up right.

The box that I set my little buddy on top of is the most important part of the package, for the immediate future. I didn't think McGarrett's the type to trouble with a bomb squad, but whenever he actually does get around to opening it, he'll find all my research and targets for Hawaii inside, along with a few added tidbits that a team like his can address.

And I left a note. Duh.

_Thanks for the fun, all. Keep Jersey busy for me._

_I've dropped some bread crumbs. Catch me if you can! _

_–P._

Such an act of goodwill is new territory for me. I'm not sure how I feel about my sudden willingness to share the workload, but oh, well. If I'm ever going to trust a group of people to do the job right, the members of Five-0 are definitely my best choice.

I couldn't be in better hands.

* * *

**A belated note from Google:**

**Prosimians** are a type of primate that include lemurs, lorises, bushbabies, and tarsiers, but not simians, e.g. monkeys and apes (including humans).

**I should have probably included that earlier. Sorry, guys.**

**All right. With this behind me, I think I'll go rest my fingers for a little bit. **

**Thank you all for reading, and I'll be back with you soon.**

**Take Care,**

**Knyle B.**


	10. All Aboard

**So, I didn't have internet access for a while and fell into the editing trap. I don't know how story notifications work, but I'm really only posting one new chapter and then satisfying my inner grammar nerd for the rest. Sorry.**

**Also, I'd like to thank all the wonderful, supportive people out there who are being so kind to me about this piece. *GRATITUDE***

**I will keep updating as much as I can, but be forewarned: next week I will have no chance to post, though I will still write.**

**And now:**

**Enjoy!**

**Knyle B.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: Hawaii Five-0 is not mine. I am only playing with it for a while.**

* * *

"Aloha! Um, hi, actually. My name's Laura," I stammered, bouncing nervously in front of the help desk.

The worker sitting there eyed me patiently, carefully trained not to raise an eyebrow at my agitation, confusion, and overall disarray. "Are you in need of assistance, ma'am?"

I started. "What? No. Well, yes, but let me explain." Still fidgeting nervously, I glanced back the way I had come, taking in the sea of people relaxing or playing on the deck of the cruise liner. "I don't want to, uh, trouble you, but my husband and I were just…er…on one of the balconies"—I was blushing fiercely there—"and I saw something. A boat."

_Well, duh, genius_. _You saw a boat from the balcony of a cruise liner?_

I gestured frantically, growing more frazzled by the minute. "_Another_ one, I mean. It was smaller and came up alongside. Some men got out and climbed aboard this ship, but I couldn't see them very well, since we were—ah—busy, and they were really far away and all covered up. But they were definitely male, and there were three of them!"

The employee blinked. I felt sorry for him. I had a habit of babbling, especially when I was nervous, but my husband hadn't seen a thing and refused to come down and interpret for me. He didn't believe me about the men and the boat. Judging by the look on the new fellow's face, actually, I was getting a sinking feeling that _no one _would believe me.

The help clerk studiously straightened some papers. "This is a very secure ship, ma'am."

I sighed, nodding. "Yes, I know, but—"

"The hull is over 12 stories tall, and the first windows are high off the water with no access from the sea except for a few monitored utility ladders."

He was very kind about it, at least, but I could see the sort of patronizing exasperation in his eyes that all people in the hospitality business seemed to have a patent on. I knew what was coming when _that_ showed up. I wanted to cry in frustration.

"I know it's very exciting, out here on the high seas, but I promise you that it's actually extremely rare for us to encounter hostile vessels and almost impossible that anyone will board us. Why don't you go back and find your husband? I assure you that I and the rest of the crew are doing everything necessary to keep you safe."

_Ah, the sugar-coated "piss off."_

Recognizing that I was getting nowhere, I nodded dejectedly and turned away. My husband was down in our room, waiting, but I didn't feel like being reminded of how foolish I sounded. I walked down the deck instead, climbing up onto a less-crowded boardwalk and wandering aimlessly along the ship.

As I was staring out at the sea, I felt a prickle of indignation filter through my sheepishness. I knew what I saw! A small boat had pulled up alongside the liner while we passed one of the little Hawaiian Islands. Three men jumped off, climbed up the side of the hull, and got inside a room right in front of my eyes. I _saw_ them!

But that was ludicrous. My husband and the clerk were right to look at me like I was insane.

Slumping, I returned to the inner hallways of the ship. My husband was in the shower when I slunk back into the room, so I tiptoed out onto the balcony and propped my elbows on the railing, scowling at the wide blue expanse facing me.

THUNK.

Spinning, I stared in utter bafflement at my new companion on the balcony.

A bag.

Frowning, I looked up, trying to see if it had fallen from one of the higher rooms. Then something moved by the railing, so I turned my gaze back down.

A hand. No, an arm, actually, curling over the top. Someone was climbing onto the ship—_again_. Intending for there to be additional witnesses this time, I opened my mouth to scream.

Instantly, my lips were sealed by a gloved palm from behind. My wail came out more like a whimper.

"Five-0, ma'am," a voice murmured from behind me. "It's all right."

What was 5 oh? Was that supposed to comfort me?

As I was debating whether or not to struggle, the arm that I had seen turned into a whole person; a tall, dark man with a bullet-proof vest and a gun on his hip hopped onto my porch. He strapped on the heavy pack that he had thrown up beforehand like it weighed nothing. Then, looking up, he saw me and the person standing behind keeping me quiet.

Evidently picking up my unease and incomprehension, he pointed to his badge. "We're police officers. We won't hurt you."

_Oh_. Well, why hadn't they said so in the first place? I nodded.

The hand came off my mouth; I wheeled away, staring as two more heads popped up over the railings. All of a sudden there were four of the crazy-climbing-ninja people coming to stand in front of me: three men, one woman.

As he came up, the blond, shorter man of the group was scowling and muttering grumpily, although he did clamber onto the balcony with the same grace as the others.

"—don't see why it's such a crime to like using doors, and ramps, and oh, I don't know, _helicopters_, like _normal_ people do when they want to get on a—"

The tall one cleared his throat, making the other one glance over and see me gaping. I suddenly remembered that I was only in a light sundress and wished fiercely for the robe I had left lying on the bed. Or the husband I had stashed in the shower.

"…boat," he finished lamely, and then turned accusingly to the tall, explicative one. "You said there was nobody in here to see us."

The man shrugged, unbothered by his whirlwind choler. "She just came in."

"Boss, we should get moving," the third man said.

He was the one who had quelled my scream. The woman, who—like him—looked native to the islands we were about to dock at, stepped forward, pulling a small screen out of the front of her vest pocket. She started tapping and dragging, listening intently to the Bluetooth headset in her ear. After a moment, she sought out her "boss" and made a report.

"The bag last pinged four minutes ago from this cruise liner. They haven't found the tag yet, but I think it's damaged. It's only sending out intermittent signals. As long as it keeps up, we can tell if they're on the ship, though not exactly where they're at."

"Good." The tall one turned to me. "We're gonna need to get through."

Before he could go on, I opened the door and ushered them all in, which seemed to be a surprise—I couldn't see why; they obviously weren't just going to stay on a balcony, no matter what they were up to—and inquired meekly, "Why, exactly?"

I didn't like the look they all exchanged.

"It's nothing to worry about," the woman started, sounding none too convincing.

The other islander—was that a snap judgment? They did look like cousins. Or was I just being a stereotypical white, middle-aged American with no cultural awareness? My daughter, if she were there, would probably have a conniption if she thought I was being uncensored, bless her heart…

Anyway, that fellow quickly backed her up.

"We're just checking on a lead for one of our investigations. Have you seen anything unusual, any out-of-ordinary activity?"

Well, there was _one_ thing that sprang to mind. I sighed, half-expecting to get laughed at again, and gestured weakly to the balcony.

"Three men came up alongside in a boat, climbed in through one of the lowest windows, and then the boat went off towards the little island."

They were staring at me. I became defensive.

"I _tried_ to tell my husband and the man at the help desk, but no one will believe me!"

The blond man held up a hand, and my frustration wilted. "No one's blaming you. Talking to some people is like beating your head against a brick wall."

Sniffing, I nodded, noticing the tall one shoot him a dark look. The speaker met it with an implacable expression.

Rolling his eyes, his leader gave up and looked away. "All right. This is good."

He gestured at the others, and they started moving towards my door. Then I jumped as he refocused on me. All of a sudden, there was an intensity about him that made me extremely timid. Well, more so than usual.

"Is there anything else you can tell us? What they were wearing? Events or places on the ship that might slow them down or attract them?"

"U-um." While my mind scrambled to form a coherent answer, I went over to the table and started digging through papers. "Black. They were all in black, and either their hair was black, too, or they were wearing black ski caps. They looked, ah, big—but in the shoulders, not the belly—and one had a big blue backpack."

"That's them," the Hawaiian man confirmed.

"Here's a list of all the things going on today and a map with all the attractions on it," I finished, proffering the sheets I had found to the woman. She seemed to be the one in charge of information.

Was that sexist? _Never mind_.

She scanned them, nodding. "This will help, thanks." To her teammates, she announced, "There's enough high-security events on here to narrow down where they won't be, at least."

"Let's go. We've only got an hour before this thing docks and they start expecting company."

At the leader-guy's words, the door was opened, and the four of them moved out in the hall with silent, watchful purpose. I looked after them with a mixed feeling of confusion, excitement, and mortification. How was I ever going to explain any of what had just happened to my husband?

As the first three filed out, the blond stopped and shot his leader an expectant look. The dark-haired one saw it and frowned, lifting his shoulders. His apparent bemusement prompted the other man to throw his hands up in the air.

He turned to me, an apologetic, long-suffering expression on his face, while the other two hid their smiles—not very well. The native man just gave up and smirked openly when the tall one looked over at them in askance.

"He's a Neanderthal. Excuse him, please," the animated blond cop told me.

I nodded hesitantly, really taking a good look at him for the first time. He seemed like a tough guy, and I knew from his previous comments that he had a temper and a sarcastic streak a mile wide, but his eyes were kind. Not the type to go easy on peers, but supremely giving to anyone under his wing. I envied the child that I was suddenly convinced he had.

_Oh, great. Now where did_ that _come from?_

I made myself tune back in to what he was saying.

"Thank you for your help."

Actually, being thanked made me feel a lot better. I smiled at him. Manners were the nonsensical glue of society. He turned and made a swooping motion with his arms, ushering his tall teammate—who was still looking at him like he was nuts—out the door like a child.

"Okay, now move, SuperSEAL. We'll find you some people you can beat up."

They were gone in a moment. The room suddenly felt huge and empty. Numbly, I went over and closed the door to the hallway. Then I sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting silently until I heard the shower turn off and my husband emerged, robed and toweling off his thinning, sandy hair.

"Did I hear you talking to someone out here, hon?"

I didn't dare tell him. Shrugging, I picked up the discarded magazine beside me, fiddling with the pages. The sudden, powerful urge to giggle madly came over me. I quelled it hastily.

Used to my absentmindedness, he smiled and crossed his arms, indicating the balcony with a nod of his head. "Well, you went to help desk, didn't you? What did you get up to after they told you to calm down?"

I shook my head, sighing, and looked down. The wet impression of a boot print was just in front of my feet. Knowing that he wouldn't take me seriously even if I showed it to him, I covered it up with my toes and murmured airily, "Oh, nothing special."

_You wouldn't believe me, anyway. And that is _not_ me jumping to a conclusion._

It was only later, when news had spread around the ship that a Hawaiian police squad had taken down three fugitives in the storage bay, that I was mollified. My husband gaped at the crew member who had just shared an eyewitness account with him. Then he slowly turned to face me.

"Then you really…?"

I smiled sweetly. "Yes, dear. I really did."

While he struggled to form a response, I brushed by him, tugging him along by the hand.

"Now, I think you owe me dinner."

* * *

**It has occurred to me that readers may have their own ideas for perspectives that they'd like to hear from or scenarios for me to put my narrators in. I have a list going that I will likely finish before I start writing for suggestions, but I would be happy to hear from you if there's something you'd like to see. **

**Thank you for reading!**

**Knyle B.**


	11. Without a Doubt

**Well, this came out quickly. I've only been typing for twenty minutes, so I apologize for any errors (and the short length). **

**Thank everyone for reading and reviewing and doing all those other generally wonderful things that everyone does. It really means a lot.**

**Enjoy!**

**Knyle B.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hawaii Five-0. I am only playing with it for a little while.**

* * *

I didn't believe it when Chin Ho Kelly was accused of stealing from the evidence locker. It was impossible, a joke, insane—but no one else seemed to care.

Suddenly, the cops I had come to respect were looking at a man who had served with them and worked beside them for years like he had grown horns and three eyes.

I felt sick.

Listening to the rumors, watching IA spread its malice around my comrade so thickly that nobody could see through it to the truth…it didn't just piss me off. It terrified me. How could the very house of the law be so easily poisoned?

Still a rookie at the time, assigned to a partner who was vocally supportive of the blasphemy, I didn't know what to do. I was aghast at the actions of my peers. That man was a better cop than all of the others combined on his worst day—there was no way he had anything to do with the crimes he was being punished for.

It was almost enough to make me quit the force. Honestly, I would have, if not for Chin himself.

I _became_ a cop because of Chin Ho Kelly.

I wanted to be just like that man, because I had seen firsthand what a good, caring, brave person he was and how much his job meant to the community. Chin Ho personified the true policeman. He never thought twice about helping people, he never complained when the gig got too rough, and he would _never_ steal from the people of Hawaii.

I _knew_ he didn't do what they said he did.

Because I was there.

Not when the theft took place. Not when Chin was fighting valiantly to prove his innocence or the day they took away his badge. I was there on the other days.

The more _important_ days.

Being a good person happens when people aren't looking. Chin kept his dignity and his resolve admirably with the harsh spotlight on him, but everyone saw that. Everyone knew about that.

They _didn't_ know him as a rookie walking his first beat, spending hours and hours of overtime getting to know the people he'd give his life to protect.

I knew.

I knew he remembered birthdays, anniversaries, and to ask how you were feeling if you got sick. He always had time to answer questions, give advice, or laugh at a joke when the neighborhood kids all flocked to say hello.

When he overheard me request a policeman's hat for my eleventh birthday, he brought one from the station with him the on the day and dropped it on my head.

They _didn't_ know him when he was tackling his first homicide case, getting home late every night to the little house he had purchased in the community he had protected so well.

I knew.

We missed him on the block after he'd transferred units. The new officer was different—nice, but not a part of us like Chin was. He'd been there for huge chunks of our lives. For a few, _all_ of their lives.

At least he stayed close. I was always the first to spot his bike turning the corner onto our street. Tired and world-weary as he was, every night he would paste on a grin and muster up the energy to chat with the kids waiting on his doorstep to say Aloha.

They _didn't_ know how he had to fight to keep his center when the job got ugly.

I knew. And I loved him for it.

I could tell, without ever getting past his defenses myself, that Chin would never let his emotions compromise his responsibilities. I'm sure that the guys he worked with never saw him upset, outside the rare times he had to get some air during the IA investigation.

But he did feel. Immensely. That was why he was so good at what he did.

The first time he shot someone, he came home and sat for a long time on the lanai. I went over with some cookies my mother had made for him; he smiled and let me sit with him for a while. Before I could stop myself, I asked him why he would choose a career that made him face so many bad people and see so many awful things.

He told me it was because he didn't want anyone else to have to do it.

And _that_ was what mattered. _That_ was what those dumbasses should have known all along.

But they didn't.

Those cops _didn't_ know Chin as the man who gave his personal number out to anyone he thought could use the reassurance.

They _didn't_ know him when he came home after a day at work and was willing to turn right around again and come running when a neighbor was in trouble.

They _didn't_ know him as the mentor and friend who smiled at me on graduation day, congratulating me for making it through the academy, and they sure as hell didn't know that when he was around, people felt safe to relax whether or not their door was locked or their jewels were out in the open.

They didn't know him as a friend, a lookout, a brother, a shoulder to cry on, a babysitter, a counselor, a neighbor, a leader, or a hero.

No one in the police station that had supposedly _made him a policeman_ knew the real Officer Kelly. They saw him as only a man, a number, a corruptible chess piece that could be moved about and influenced by the same weak forces that governed the rest of the board.

But I knew differently.

Because _I_ was there to know _him_.

* * *

**There. Short but sweet/righteous. **

**I should warn you: I WILL BE GONE. I'm going on a mission trip for a few weeks and have no idea what my computer access will be like (except that it will probably be limited). I'll keep writing, but no promises on actual posting.**

**So, take care. Bye, all, see you soon (ish).**

**Knyle B.**


	12. Hands Off

**Oh my goodness. I really don't know what to do with myself. I got a chance to look at the stats for this story, and I'm just staggered by the amount of views and comments and love from everyone. Thank you all so much!**

**So, I haven't had much time to write (nor will I, for a while), but I did manage to get this on "paper." I also edited a few things with my earlier stories. I'll do my best to keep the flow going, but apologies in advance for the coming dry spells. This is a pretty hectic month (but for good reason). **

**A side note: the program that I'm working with has just hit 30,000 service hours. That's like volunteering 24/7 for 4 years. I'm so blessed to be involved with such good work and great people. **

**Like you! So thank you, and Enjoy!**

**Knyle B.**

* * *

The shed was a welcome place to hide while we caught our breath. Throwing myself into the shade behind it, I leaned over at the waist and tried to stop my head from spinning, gasping like a lampooned whale. I was so scared that I found myself acting completely like the thoughtless idiot I was pretending to be.

"Do you think we lost them?" a deep voice piped up.

Beside me, Iko—a genuine member of the spineless criminal lower class—looked worriedly back the way we had come as he questioned me, swiping a handful of sweat off his forehead. Breathless and desperate, he gave me a wide-eyed look that I mirrored.

"We _had_ to lose them back there, right? There's no way…"

"Nope, no way they followed through that," I agreed, nodding vigorously. "We shook 'em. They gone, bruddah, we're good."

Iko wilted in relief, throwing his towering form against the wall with a sigh. "Good."

The silence stretched out, punctuated only by our heaving breaths. Something was wrong, though. I wasn't calming down, and I wasn't still keyed up because of the adrenaline rush, either. The back of my neck even started to prickle in paranoia and confusion. I looked up at Iko; he seemed to be having the same problem.

"Nothin' to worry about," he assured the air nervously, meeting my eyes with a frown.

I shook my head, dismissing such a stupid fear. "We're safe."

Another beat of tense quiet passed.

Without another glance at each other, my demented partner in crime and I exploded away from the shed, running like hell and the devil were right behind us.

And maybe they were.

We hit the woods and started weaving, bounding up the trails and shoving through the brush like wounded animals. I'd never run so far or so fast in my life, but I wasn't even close to slowing down. Not with _those_ guys on our tail.

Iko saw the little house first. Almost sobbing with relief, he tore towards the shack, and I followed immediately. He had the gun, after all. If I wanted any chance against our pursuers, I'd need him handy.

If not to shoot them, then to be shot first while I ditched.

As we crashed into the yard, I saw a flutter of fabric ahead. The place was occupied. By a woman. There were clothes on the line, bright and flowery—going by them, she was small, relatively fashionable, so probably young. Seized by inspiration, I stopped and grabbed Iko's arm, motioning that he be quiet.

"A hostage could keep them off us."

_Or make sure they focus on you so I can get away_.

Eyes widening, he nodded eagerly. We slunk up to the first window, careful to peer in from out of sight on either side. There was the woman, slender and dark-haired. Her back was to us as she bent over a book, sitting languidly in front of the TV in the corner. Her home was small but well-kept, and there were plenty of pictures all around—I assumed of friends and family.

Nodding at Iko, I followed him to the back door and helped unlatch it, holding it open while he slipped inside. After I closed it without a sound, we split up and started moving towards the unsuspecting female. She didn't give any sign of noticing us, calmly turning a page.

Since he had the gun, Iko was left to approach her. He looked over at me, anxious, but I gestured impatiently that he get on it. All he needed to do was get her attention and flash the piece. He didn't even need to get as close as he was—what did he think he was doing, walking right up to her like that?

Before I could say anything, he pressed the gun barrel to the back of her skull and quavered roughly, "Drop the book and put your hands in the air, lady."

There was a blur and a crack—abruptly, Iko was flat on his back and squeaking in pained terror. The girl was standing over him, gun in her hands. She smiled at me, keeping my wingman pinned with the foot she had on his sternum.

"Howzit, Lua. Or should I call you Mark?"

_Mark? Not good_.

I gaped, my stomach dropping. She knew my name. She'd disarmed Iko in seconds. I knew that should mean something, but all I could look at was the gleaming metal death penalty pointing my way. Slowly, I started to back up, thinking of the door just a few feet behind me.

The sound of a shotgun cocking between it and myself made me freeze. A cold, authoritative voice joined the gun's noise, warning, "Don't even think about it, Harwinton."

I knew that voice.

_Oh, no. Nononononono.._. My skin prickled. My eyes closed in acute fear. It felt like my heart had taken up residence near my toes.

It was _them_.

Weakly, I whimpered, "Oh, damn."

"What?" Iko saw my expression and went even whiter. He whipped his head back and forth so he could alternate staring between me and the two of them.

The girl saved me the trouble of responding to his question, smirking down at him while the man behind me grabbed my arms and cuffed me, efficiently disposing of the phone and knife in my pockets. "Officers Kono Kalakaua and Chin Ho Kelly, at your service."

Iko gulped, fish-eyed.

Her partner added, "Five-0."

"Oh _shit_." Iko held his hands up pleadingly, stammering up at Kono, "I wasn't going to shoot you. The hostage thing was his idea, I swear."

I glared at his pointing finger, ready to stomp on his throat, when the policewoman looked over at me, her expression hardening. "Yeah, Lua here has had a lot of ideas lately, hasn't he, Iko?"

Iko stopped and looked constipated, which was fairly normal for him. "Huh?"

"I'll bet he was the one who picked out the cars you jacked, wasn't he? And he probably sent you to drop off those packages at the Collins' house and told you where to paint those coded messages, too," Officer Kelly agreed, fisting my collar in his hand and giving me a steely look that made my gut clench. "If you ask me, Iko, you've sure been running around a lot for a guy you just met a week ago."

_Damn it_, I thought, feeling trapped._ They know. They must have gotten to Ricky. That dirty rat._

Iko blinked, and I relaxed slightly. At least the little prick didn't seem to comprehend their hints that I'd been using him. The last thing I needed was for the brainless punk to get self-righteous and start blabbing. It had been hard enough faking like I was a dumbass with him; after all the time I'd spent enduring his stupidity while I gained his trust, I was _not_ open to the idea of trying to make amends with him.

I smothered a scowl and decided I was done bending over backwards for him. If the cops managed to ruffle his feathers, I'd just as soon cut him loose and drop the charade once and for all. My clients paid well, but not well enough to suffer an indignity like jail whilst simultaneously pretending to be just another Hawaiian thug. The sooner I could stop having to use that disgusting pigeon-speak, the better.

Iko looked on worriedly as I glared at the policeman holding me by the arm. Turning hopefully to Kono, he inquired meekly, "Uh, can I get up now, please?"

In less than half a minute, he had been searched, pulled to his feet, and cuffed. Kalakaua was civil, at least. I'd seen officers do much worse after having to chase a suspect the way they'd chased us. Actually, scratch that. I'd never seen anyone chase like that.

My dumb partner brought that up, which I was glad for. I didn't want to ask anything of those crazy cops. As the woman was securing him, Iko wondered bewilderedly, "But you were at the marina. We ran through the docks. How did you…?"

She smiled again, this time with a wicked glint in her eye. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Kelly tugged on my arm, steering me out towards the yard. Iko and his captor followed, the former still looking like a stunned deer. I listened with mounting apprehension as the policeman pulled out his phone and brought it to his ear.

"Hey. We've got them. Send a chopper to our coordinates."

That wasn't good. Not good at all. My employers did not tolerate failure from their operatives, and the clients I was currently assigned to were even less forgiving. If word got out that I'd been caught, I was a dead man.

Well, first I'd be a tortured, screaming, slowly dying man. Then maybe they'd let me be dead.

I swallowed dryly. I needed to get out of there. Looking over at Iko, I sensed the beginnings of a desperate plan. If I could use him…

Turning to Kalakaua, I demanded, "How did you find out?"

She knew what I meant. Favoring me with a look full of that special brand of holier-than-thou triumph that I have only known do-gooders to be capable of, she shook her head. "You're not as neat and tidy as you're advertised to be, Harwinton. For a professional, you left a lot of loose ends."

Beside her, Iko couldn't help but hear our exchange. He blinked stupidly at me. "I thought your name was Kemakoa."

Chin pulled me out into the yard, just off the widest portion where the helicopter would land. Obviously, he had picked up on Iko's distinct lack of IQ. He seemed close to sympathy as he broke the truth to my paid monkey. "That's the name he gave you. In other circles, he's got a different calling card—and business—than what you were told."

"Luckily for you, you weren't in on all of it," Kono added, watching the sky for the incoming bird that we could all hear thrumming closer. "If he'd let you in on the truth, Iko, you'd be heading to the same scary hole that he is."

The other man didn't seem to believe it, at first. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, his face a mask of fierce concentration as he endeavored to put it all together. I waited impatiently, watching the chopper come over the trees and begin to descend.

Seeing it, my mood brightened infinitesimally. It was small; only the pilot and an empty bay awaited us. Luckily, the new representative from law enforcement wasn't on Five-0. He could be handled fairly quickly, once I did what I needed to do on the ground. Which had to happen right away, if I was going to get out of there.

Turning to Iko, I goaded him, "Don't listen to her, brah. She's just trying to get in your head. You can trust me. I got your back."

I purposely let my hold on the pigeon accent shiver a bit just to help him more. Hopefully, the officers would write it off as my nerves getting the better of me. It didn't matter, anyway. With my helpful nudge, Iko finally clued in to reality.

"You used me!" he exploded, suddenly ferocious.

I backed away involuntarily as he changed. His whole frame stiffened and seemed to get bigger, puffing up with his snarling rage. My satisfaction at his transformation was only slightly dimmed by the instinctive fear that crept through me at the sight of him.

I had long suspected that Iko's brain was so small that it could only handle one thing at a time. Thus, whatever entered his head, he devoted all of his energy to it. While calm, he might as well have been a puppet, he was so easily influenced. When he got angry, however, he turned into an unthinking monster.

Kalakaua could do nothing as the gentle giant turned into an ogre, throwing himself forward out of her grip.

"Bastard!"

Expecting the charge, I lurched out of the way of the oncoming tackle. Kelly took it instead, thrown to the ground under Iko's assault. As soon as the lawman's grip had been ripped off my arm, I hopped over my hands so they were in front of me, slamming my shoulder into Kalakaua while she tried to go for her gun.

I managed to knock her hand away and grabbed the gun myself, kneeing her in the kidney as hard as I could. She went down to her knees, and I kicked her in the head for good measure. I needed her alive, but fully conscious was optional for what I had planned.

By then Iko had realized he'd attacked the wrong person. Roaring, the puppy-turned-attack dog jumped up off of the downed policeman and rounded on me, infuriated that I had dodged. Cuffed or not, I could tell from the look in his eyes that he was going to kill me.

So I put a bullet between his eyes.

Harsh, maybe, but he was getting in the way. Plus, his corpse made a great obstacle, dropping backwards right at Kelly. The policeman was just getting up. Seeing the limp body falling at him, he dodged to the side. His eyes stayed averted from me just long enough to be fatal.

Kalakaua's gun kicked back twice in my hand, and her comrade fell back onto the grass beside his dead prisoner.

I looked around, seeing the chopper. My little stunt had only lasted thirty seconds, but the pilot was already bringing his craft skywards. I couldn't have that. Bringing the gun around, I fired a warning shot through his windshield, adding a new hole to the copilot's chair. Keeping the gun trained at his chest, I motioned that he set the vehicle down. He complied.

Once he was on the ground, I approached, drawing up alongside the cockpit. "Turn off the radio. Now get out, but keep your hands visible and move slowly."

Carefully, he did as I said, dismounting and coming over when I beckoned. It took me a moment to pat him down one-handed and rid him of the contents of his pockets. Then I ushered him over to the unconscious policewoman.

"Toss everything on her and in her pockets but the keys to these cuffs. The vest and belt, too."

It was time-consuming to have her searched so thoroughly, but I'd learned not to take Five-0 for granted. As long as she stayed out, she wouldn't be a problem. When she woke up, though, I didn't want her to have any tools at her disposal.

The pilot found the keys and finished tugging off her vest. I kept the gun pointed straight at him and had him unlock my restraints, transferring them to Kono.

"Now drag her to the chopper and get back in the pilot's seat."

A few minutes later, we were airborne. Kalakaua was tied down in the bay and I was sitting in the copilot's seat beside the shaking pilot. I watched the shack recede behind us with some satisfaction, glad to see the two bodies in the yard were easily obscured by the trees. I could only see the edge of Iko as we ascended, and once we'd flattened our angle he was completely invisible. Anyone looking down from above in an aerial search would have to take the time to land in order to spot them. That would give me an extra cushion before my new crimes could be broadcast.

That reminded me to turn and destroy the tracking and transmitting machinery in the cockpit. There was probably some way to still track my ride, but I'd done what I could. Any extra time that I could generate was precious, if I wanted to get to my associate's hangar and off the islands before the last two members of Five-0 came calling.

With the cuffs off my wrists and an unconscious, high-profile gift for my bosses in the back, I was starting to feel pretty good. All I needed to do was get to our people the next landmass over and I'd be home free. I might even get a bonus for taking down half of the infamous, eternally annoying police squad that had been hounding criminal activities in Hawaii.

Dialing the phone I'd appropriated from Kalakaua's belongings, I waited one ring before someone picked up on the other end. "Who is this?"

"Mark Harwinton. I'm running hot, need a ticket off the islands, fast. Got any ideas?"

I could hear the other man grinning. "How hot?"

"Just tagged one of Five-0, got another wrapped up all nice for the boss." My voice was at ease as I boasted. Keeping half an eye on my driver, I relaxed into my seat, assured that I was all but safely away. "Think you can find us a ride home?"

He swore appreciatively and told me where to meet his guy for pickup. I chuckled as I hung up and shifted my grip on the gun, giving the pilot instructions to turn towards my contact's position. We were only a few minutes away.

Forget good. I felt _great_. Grinning, I watched the trees fly by below, pretending they were the ocean I was about to cross sometime in the very near future. Soon, I saw the telltale line snaking through the canopy that revealed a well-travelled road below. My pilot guided the chopper to the prescribed clearing a few miles off of the byway and set her down.

I wasn't bothered that my ride had yet to show up. That just gave me time to take care of the pilot—and his body afterwards. Turning, I favored the shaking, sweating man with a feral smile. The gun in my hand kept him from bolting the way I could tell he wanted to, judging by the repeated glances he was sending out the windshield. My grin sharpened into a smirk. _Stupid fool_. He knew I was going to kill him, but fear of death still held him in place.

Well, time was a-wastin'. Checking backwards to make sure that Kalakaua was still lying inert on the floor, I tossed off my harness, indicating lazily with the gun that the pilot should do the same. "Time to get out. No sudden moves."

Swallowing comically, he did as I asked, climbing down from his seat onto the grass. With my eyes trained on him, I backed out and did the same, climbing down carefully. I intended to walk around the front of the helicopter, herd the trembling ninny into the woods, and empty a round into his skull. Nice and neat. A shallow grave that I could manage in a short amount of time, just enough to keep him out of sight until the boars dug him up and made a meal of him.

Metal clicked on metal behind me. I froze.

"Harwinton."

Five-0.

_How—?_

The voice was ragged and rough, edged through and through with weariness and perhaps pain. Desperation seized me. If the cop was in bad shape, maybe I'd have a chance.

Whirling, I kept the gun raised defensively, ready to get my money's worth out of the bullets in it. I'd shot a policeman twice already that day in the hopes of escaping the island; apparently, the third time really was the char—

Impact on my forearms halted my revolution, and both wrists cried out in agony as the gun was ripped away with a harsh twist. I grunted when something hard and unforgiving collided with my cheekbone, dropping gracelessly back onto the grass.

The world was spinning. Strange lights swam over my vision. Moaning, I curled forward, cradling my aching face. At the sound of approaching footsteps, I brought my head up, my swirling eyes following the boots, jeans, and bloody vest up to the face of my assailant.

Chin Ho Kelly looked down at me with stone cold fury in his eyes.

I gaped as the decidedly _not_ murdered officer leaned down towards me. My hands flew up in surrender of their own accord, open and pleading for mercy from the vengeful specter advancing upon me. Kelly stopped and shifted the shotgun in his hands, drawing it back to hover beside the black mask of his face. I cowered away without thinking, struck dumb by the blazing danger of his gaze and the shock of seeing him back from the dead.

"Don't _ever_ touch my cousin again."

Then the handle of the shotgun flashed down, and the lights went out with a painful burst of pressure on my temple.

* * *

**All rightie. It's pretty rough yet, but I only have so much time. **

**What do you think? Thanks a bunch, see you soon(ish)!**

**Aloha - **

**Knyle B.**


	13. Saving Grace, part 1

**Heeeeeeeeeere's ****Johnny**** Knyle!**

**I'm Back! I've Been WRITING! Now I'm ****_POSTING_****! Hallelujah!**

**Thanks to all of you for being patient and for giving such kind feedback while I was away. I'll try to post a ton of stuff right off to make up for it. It's so good to be home!**

**This is another long one, fyi.**

**Enjoy!**

**Knyle B.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: H50 is not mine! I'm only playing with it for a while!**

* * *

I didn't want to be in Hawaii. There wasn't much point, after the news about Carson. I had decided to forego the trip, stay in Port-au-Prince where I could do some good, but my coworkers wouldn't have it. I guess there wasn't much point working in relief services when the help was getting contaminated by moping.

And so I wound up on a plane back to U.S. soil, tired, lonely, and defeated. There was no one to meet me at the end of the gangway—another stab in the back from reality—but I pushed on.

_Optimism, optimism, optimism. Hope for the best,_ I reminded myself. _MIA doesn't mean he's in trouble. They've only lost touch for a while._

_Or forever_.

I gritted my teeth and walked. That second little voice had been impossible to ignore from the get go. Hope for the best? Grin and bear it, more like it. I was not a fatalist, but life had taught me the hard way to expect the worst.

I walked into paradise thinking about missing brothers, orphans, poverty, and hell in general. I couldn't help but stare at all the families and their children, seeing instead the people that I should have been helping back in the tent cities in the Caribbean or the brother that should have been walking at my side, teasing and full of energy.

Next thing I knew, I wound up sitting on a bench outside a bus station, unable to move. I was scheduled to be checking into my hotel, but I couldn't make a move to go. So I stayed, frozen, and watched the people walking by, admiring how healthy they looked.

The children drew my eyes the most. Happy, able-bodied, cared-for. I drank in the sight, hoping to build up a store of good memories to fall back on when the endless parade of problems at work seemed overwhelming. It was good to see that the world still had mercy left over for little ones, even if it was capricious and inconsistent about it.

I was still busy watching when a passing duo caught my interest. I had only eyes for one half of it, naturally—the little girl.

She looked very small in comparison to the man holding her against his chest. I assumed she was asleep by how limply she slumped against him. Her head lolled loosely on his shoulder, and her long legs swung at the knees on either side of his chest.

I frowned, staring. Something didn't seem right.

There was nothing obviously wrong. The girl was a tad on the wiry side, but the ratio of height and meat on her bones was appropriate. Her long brown hair was tied back into two pigtails. The white and tan school uniform she wore was stark against the black suit of the man carrying her. She was clean, well-tended, and apparently healthy.

So what was bothering me so much about seeing her?

The man shifted, fishing in his pockets while he walked towards a parked van on the other side of the street. I stiffened, my whole scalp prickling. Before I knew it, I was up and walking after him, leaving my bags forgotten by the bench.

_He_ was the one who was off. Something about the man was making me itch.

I followed them over to the vehicle, daring to draw closer. The girl's face was buried in the man's neck. Every time it looked like it might pull away, he would re-tuck her nose into his shirt collar, moving a little quicker towards his destination. His posture had my hackles coming up, but then I saw a quick flash of red by her hairline when he couldn't keep her head from rolling in time.

My insides tied themselves into knots.

I was not a person who could tolerate leaving children in harm's way. I darted across the road when he wasn't looking, hopping the sidewalk and running behind the row of sheltering bushes on the other side. When I came even with the back of the van, I stopped, inching silently into the greenery.

Glaring at the man through the shrub, I saw him look around surreptitiously before going to the back of his ride. Sadly, I admitted that Hawaii wasn't all that different from Haiti. Tropical, small, susceptible to criminal activity. The man was no father or friend or family member. Whatever that little girl was to him, it didn't have nearly the value that a child should.

So he didn't deserve to have her.

We both jumped when his phone started ringing. Cursing, he yanked open one of the back doors and set the girl more down more or less gently inside. Then he turned away, hunching into a defensive posture and arguing fiercely into the receiver. I didn't recognize the language. I did, however, know a golden opportunity when I saw one.

The man was distracted, his back turned and arms gesticulating in agitation. Then he walked away, around the edge of the car. I was moving before I could process why or to where.

Coming up to the bumper, I bent immediately over the child, checking her pulse and breathing, scowling at the cut on her right temple. A sniff of her shirt collar revealed a sweet and cloying odor. Chloroform.

Actually, that was good for her. In America there were so many tools available to criminals that they didn't have to rely solely on injury to knock someone out. Hopefully, the cut was just superficial and the chemical was what had incapacitated her.

A commotion up the street startled me out of my inspection. A man's voice was raised over the crowd, edged with worry, but not panic. "—ace? Where are you, monkey? Hello?"

The ape swore loudly on the other side of the car. Hearing his phone snap shut, I scrambled for cover, all thoughts of getting the searching man's attention forgotten. There were piles of boxes and stacked equipment inside the van. Plenty of hiding places.

I had just tucked myself between two crates when the big man came into view. He shoved the girl in farther and slammed the door shut. I heard as he sprinted to the driver's side and leapt in. We pulled out into traffic, the driver hunching low. Outside, the other man was still calling out for someone.

I knew, in my gut, that the worried man was the girl's real guardian. There was no faking parental concern, and there I was witnessing a _very_ concerning situation with a child. It couldn't be a coincidence.

At the same time, I made no move to alert the unseen searcher. It was an unnecessary risk to call for help yet.

The van had no windows to allow people look in or out from the back, so I would have to move towards the driver's seat to be visible. Unfortunately, I had seen a gun holstered under the driver's jacket when he closed the door, and there was a floor-to-ceiling grate behind the front seats that afforded him a clear view of the back while preventing me from reaching the windows.

If I made a move, the giant would see me, and then any chance I had of helping the girl get back to her family would be gone.

As would I, undoubtedly.

Odd as it might seem, I wasn't terribly scared. I'd been in an unstable region of the world long enough to become accustomed to tense situations, and there was a kid to look out for. That was more than enough to justify the danger I'd put myself in.

So, grudgingly, I sat back on my heels and waited.

I spent the time by memorizing the ride. Sort of. It was long, an hour at least. I was properly anxious by the time we stopped. Remaining frozen, I waited for the man to climb out from behind the wheel. Instead, he sat where he was. Minutes elapsed, confusing me, until a new set of footsteps crunched up to the van and the passenger side door opened.

Curiosity won out over prudence. Silently, I inched forward to peer around a crate, hardly daring to breathe while I took in the late arrival. Going one on one with the girl's first kidnapper would be hard enough, but if I had another angry moose to deal with…

The new goon was smaller but very obviously carrying a rifle. Two more handguns were apparent. My heart sank a little. America and its guns. Why couldn't the common criminals of Hawaii wave around machetes instead of hoarding projectile weapons?

The driver spoke, his English heavily accented—northern European, maybe. Scandinavian. "You have the location?"

"Harry sent it over with our new instructions an hour ago," the other one confirmed. His voice was American. "What the hell took you so long?"

Mr. Norway—he reminded me of a troll—grunted in annoyance and put the van back in gear. I crept back into my hiding place to listen, not willing to get caught watching.

"He is very careful. I had to wait for him to leave her with the woman before she wandered on her own."

The little American snorted. I thought of an obnoxious boy in my kindergarten class. Willy. "Yeah, whatever. Next time, _I_ get to grab the twelve year old. _You_ deal with Harry and his shit."

They lapsed into silence.

Sneaking a peek at the girl, I made sure that nothing had changed in her overall appearance. Her color was good, there was no visible damage besides the cut, and her breathing was even. All good things.

Wishing I had similar news on my deteriorating nerves, I backed up against the wall and settled in, praying for Norway to get pulled over for speeding or a faulty tail light or something.

* * *

**So, maybe being around a bunch of missionaries impacted my plot bunnies. *eheh* Thoughts?**

**This narrator is totally fiction and not nearly as entertaining as my girl thief, but the meeting-the-brother-in-Hawaii-but-oh-wait-he's-MIA plotline is an actual story I heard from a friend while we were talking about her work in Haiti. Poor girl. Thank God her bro made it home.**

**I'll keep posting now...**


	14. Saving Grace, part 2

**And the tale goes on. I really want to show you the doodle I did of Norway and Willy. They look like a huge, grumpy troll and a little skinny gremlin creature. ...Actually, it's probably best I can't show you. ^^;**

**Anyhoo, Enjoy!**

**Knyle B.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: H50 is not mine! I'm only playing with it for a while!**

* * *

It was several hours before we stopped again. I stayed motionless when the back door opened, hearing the two men mutter to each other as Norway plucked up the girl and walked away with her.

Willy rustled around a bit, grabbing a box or two, and then left as well. He bumped the door shut with his rear when he left.

It didn't latch. Grateful, I slipped over to it and peered through the crack, taking in the empty loading bay of some anonymous warehouse.

Once I was certain it was safe, I eased the door open and slipped out, letting it swing half-shut behind me. The bay was narrow, so it was a quick run to the side and up onto the raised walkway. Trotting over to the only open entrance of the building—one of the loading doors for the semi trailers—I edged along the wall so I could peek around the jamb.

Old and unused, the warehouse was stacked with a maze of monstrous shelves and towers of crates. Only the two men I had driven in with were visible. Norway was just walking out of sight around the corner of a shelf. Willy followed him with his armful of boxes.

Picking out a course that ran parallel to theirs, I scampered after. Dust and grit stirred up under my footsteps. Hopefully nobody decided to explore while I was still snooping around leaving footprints.

The end of the makeshift hallway led to an open space that ran along the wall of the main warehouse room. Norway and Willy crossed it to a door. I waited five seconds after they'd gone through and then sprinted after, letting myself into the second portion of the building without a sound.

The men's footsteps led me through an office area to the other side, into a sort of garage. I lurked in the doorway while they settled. The girl began to come around, moving listlessly and making soft noises. Norway cringed away from her when she sleepily snuggled into his chest, disgusted.

I bit my lip. Such instinctive innocence was beautiful, but also dangerous. The girl couldn't do much worse than to offend her captors or worse—blindly trust them. Hopefully her naivety survived the day, but in the meantime I'd have been happier if she were awake and on guard.

Eager to be rid of the disorientated, waking grade-schooler, Norway deposited her in a tiny cage made out of welded rebar. My hands clenched.

Oh, those rotten bastards. If I had my manchèt…but no. There were more important things to worry about.

I waited until Norway went over to help Willy empty the box he had carried in—full of a camera, tripod, sheet, duct tape, and other nefarious ransom video paraphernalia—and hurried into the maze of equipment.

The cage was small, but strong. Coming up on it, I could see the thick joints and heavy lock clearly. So, breaking it apart with my super strength was out. Glancing around, I took a moment to feel grateful that I was in a machine shop. There had to be some sort of tool I could use.

A gentle sound made me freeze. Turning, I found myself staring into two wide, doe-like brown eyes. Awake and obviously recognizing that something was wrong, the girl sat up, her little body rigid. I saw the panic building in her expression and hastily brought a finger to my lips, moving closer.

"Shh," I breathed, keeping one eye on the men. I was horribly exposed, crouching directly beside her prison. It made my skin crawl to be so visible. "I'm here to help. I'm gonna get you out of there, but you have to be quiet, all right?"

Silent and calm but for the enormous spread of her terrified eyes, she nodded. Relieved, I gave her a tight smile. My heart was pounding a mile a minute, my whole body seemed to be sweating, and there was a running monologue of screaming in the back of my head, but I walled it all off. It had to be locked away where it couldn't distract me.

I slunk back into the shadows, casting my eyes around frantically for some device I could use to make good on my promise. Time was slipping away far too quickly. Whatever the kidnappers were up to, they'd need to use their prize soon. I had to get her to safety before that.

After about a year's worth of searching—about sixty seconds—I saw a pair of bolt cutters leaning against a mobile tool bench.

_Eureka_.

Snatching the tool up, I turned on a dime and made my way back towards the girl, apprehension mounting. Norway and Willy were still occupied when I paused out of sight by the cage. I looked over their handiwork. A chair sat in front of the sheet they'd suspended from a car lift. The camera pointed at it, and a table sat next to it with a lot of unpleasant gleaming stuff on top.

My stomach turned. I averted my gaze.

The girl watched me with noiseless hope. I'd made her a promise; I had to deliver. I swallowed and shoved away my misgivings. I was about to run over to her, bolt cutters at the ready, when Norway turned.

Throwing myself deeper into the shadows to avoid being seen, I reevaluated. Cutting the lock on the cage door would put me directly in front of him. I'd have to think of something else.

I needed a distraction. Making eye contact with the child, I mimed covering my head with my arms. She nodded and immediately copied, curling her knees under her chin and tucking her brown locks under her forearms. I was becoming crazily impressed with her.

Refusing to dither on that, I went around behind the cage and left the bolt cutters tucked between two crates closest to it, ready for me when I came back. Then I hid behind a tool bench in the machine shop proper.

_Time to make some noise_.

I grabbed a wrench and hammer. The tools made a tremendous ruckus when they hit the far end of the shop. Surprised I could throw them so far, I hunkered down under then bench as the goons ran towards the commotion. With their guns drawn, of course.

As soon as they were past me, I scurried back to the girl.

She was still sitting in the defensive position I wanted her in. Grabbing the bolt cutters, I clipped the lock and threw the door open.

"Stay tucked," I whispered, reaching in and wrapping my arms around the little ball she'd made. As long as she stayed as small as possible, she had less chance of getting—

Shot.

Oh, they'd seen me. Squeaking by the sudden profusion of bullets spattering against the metal all around, I bolted towards the door I had come in through. I don't think I'd ever run so fast in my life, but their pounding footsteps were right behind me, and their gunfire was even closer.

* * *

**Oh, no! Quick, Steve, drive through the wall in a tank! Chin, make their cell phones zap them! **

**Somebody call Batman!**

**...or not. **

**Any Thoughts?**


	15. Saving Grace, part 3

**And now it's time to make things (even more) complicated...**

* * *

**Disclaimer: H50 is not mine! I'm only playing with it for a while!**

* * *

The hallway to the main warehouse seemed to stretch on for miles. Shying away from the sight, I darted sideways through a doorway, cradling the little girl to my chest and vaulting the two desks between myself and the next door. As I wrenched it open, Willy came around the corner behind me, brandishing his rifle.

I heard his footsteps stop and threw myself forward the same second he started firing. Something hard punched into my back, forcing me ahead faster. The assist sent me through the door fast enough to avoid the spray of bullets that peppered the opposite wall at eye level.

Landing on my forearms, I took all of the impact and rolled, shielding the girl as much as I could. The door sounded wonderfully solid as I kicked it shut.

"Missed me!" I taunted through the wood, hearing Willy swear loudly.

Then I was up and running again, taking every unexpected twist and turn that I could.

Huddled against my chest, the girl remained silent. I could hear her ragged breathing, saw a glimpse of her wide, unblinking eyes off and on.

"It's okay," I panted, shouldering through a door and staggering into the first portion of the warehouse that I had entered. "You're okay. Just hold on, little zanj."

In response, a bullet clanged by my head. I broke into a run again as a doorway to my left spouted an angry Norwegian. Willy burst out behind me in pursuit, and again all I could hear was the sound of guns firing and metal complaining.

A chain hit by a ricochet snapped overhead; machinery came crashing down from above. Seeing it, I dodged to the side and got around.

Willy wasn't so lucky.

His scream made my spine prickle, and the girl sucked in a sharp breath. I hugged her closer and took a turn, hoping to find myself coming out in front of the loading bay door.

Norway stood there instead, gun raised and firing.

Something hot tore across the skin of my right shoulder, and impact jarred my left thigh. I stumbled. Only instinct made me throw myself sideways behind some huge object and twist onto my back before I crashed onto the concrete.

Pain. Burning. Pain. Oh, _damn_, that did not feel good.

Then I felt the small body in my arms tremble with a noiseless sob.

Suddenly, the pain paralyzing me was not so insurmountable after all.

Being on my back presented a unique vantage point. The undersides of the shelves on either side were held by triangle supports. They joined with the metal sides of the units by a loose interlocking connection.

Kicking out with my good leg, I knocked out the main supports closest to me and rolled onto my feet. Norway came around the corner just in time to have the contents of an entire rack of canned goods dumped onto him. I didn't look back to see him buried.

The bay door was right where I thought it was. With Norway down, I ran back to it towards freedom.

The Hawaiian sunshine felt beautiful on my skin. Coming over to the van, I slumped against the driver's side and tried the door. Locked. The back was still ajar, but the grate would bar me from getting to the steering wheel.

I was stuck. Fighting down the sudden urge to scream, I looked down at my charge. She was still in a ball, peeking out at me from behind her elbows. There was too much fear in her eyes.

I tried a smile. "You okay? Those men aren't going to come after us again."

Mutely, she nodded.

My smile grew into a grin, and a weary laugh welled up in my throat. "That's great. You're wonderful, zanj. Amazing girl."

I hugged her tighter. My world went gray as the small motion suddenly awakened a furious leviathan in my side.

Pain.

I whimpered and felt my muscles slacken in shock. God, I was on _fire_. My side was almost alive, it was so angry and vivid with agony.

Remembering the impact from my dive through the door, I realized what must have happened. Peeking down, I saw a splash of red land on the concrete by my foot.

I'd been shot. More than I already knew about.

_Right. Good to know_.

In my arms, the girl had frozen. The panic on her face was almost more pronounced than it had been inside the cage. Angry at myself for upsetting her, I sagged against the car, grabbed the side mirror to keep upright, and worked to stop gasping. Then I looked back down at her, trying to seem reassuring.

"It's all right. Just a little dizzy. We're going to go find help now, okay?"

She nodded again, more eagerly. I carefully adjusted my grip on the car.

First things first: make sure I could move. I tried to remain objective, analyzing the wound. I had felt the impact in my back, but the blood I could see was originating from a spot low on the front of my abdomen. The bullet had gone straight through me, thanks to Willy's fondness for high-powered rifles.

Four inches higher, and it would have hit the girl. If I hadn't had her curl up so tightly while I carried her…

Swallowing my horror, I struggled to remember my first aid training. I had at least two holes in me. I needed to put pressure on the wounds, stop the bleeding. Seeing the girl watching me, inspiration struck.

Adjusting my grip on her, I murmured, "Let's get you more comfortable, hm? Stretch out, zanj, give me a hug."

At once, her long limbs wrapped around me: arms on my neck, legs around my waist. Biting my lip to keep from shrieking, I subtly shifted her so that her torso was pressed up against my side and her leg was more or less covering the entry wound on my lower back. Then I wrapped both arms around her and hugged her close. Hopefully, she'd attribute any stickiness to sweat or be too distracted to notice.

Seeming to pick up on my desire for pressure, she tightened her grip. I choked back a cry as inconspicuously as I could, starting to walk towards the mouth of the loading bay and the road I could see beyond the gate.

"Such a strong grip," I gritted out. "You're a regular little monkey, aren't you?"

For some reason, her whole body lost tension at that. Her arms and legs still held on with the same strength as before, but most of the fear had eased out of her. Surprised, I glanced at the side of her brown head.

"You like that name. Monkey."

I felt the barely perceptible motion of her nod. Encouraged, I walked a little faster, glad to have her feedback to turn my attention to. The pain was secured by then, regulated to a tight little box in the back of my skull that kept me feeling only nauseous and drunk instead of agonized and butchered.

Reaching the road, I turned onto it and saw no traffic. To distract us both from the disappointment, I kept talking as I staggered on towards the intersection a few blocks down. "Does someone else call you monkey, zanj?"

She nodded again. Then, so faintly that I thought I'd imagined it: "Danno."

* * *

**So, fun Haitian creole vocabulary. Zanj: Angel. My friend I mentioned earlier called a puppy we met Zanj. That is now her official name. My next pet may share it with her.**

**How are we doing? Well, excluding the pitiful state of the narrator, I mean.**


	16. Saving Grace, part 4

**This whole section of whumpage may get a redo. I'm not sure it works the way I want it to. Does it seem awkward or drawn out? I just wanted Grace to have time to talk, but...Humph. **

**Moving on...**

* * *

**Disclaimer: H50 is not mine! I'm only playing with it for a while!**

* * *

Her voice was forlorn. My heart squeezed. I wondered who "Danno" was. Then I remembered the worried man calling for someone named monkey back by my abandoned bus stop.

So he was Danno. Her parent—father, most likely.

Hugging her tighter, I assured her, "You'll see him soon, little one, I promise. We'll find someone to take you home." She nodded again, remaining quiet. Desperate for some sort of further diversion, I prodded her, "What's Danno like?"

A moment passed. I could almost feel the intensity of the thought she was putting into her answer. The thoughts of her parent drew more tension out of her body.

"Danno is warm…"

Her words, when they came, were soft and thoughtful. They grew stronger as she warmed to her topic.

"And strong. His house is small, but I like it best 'cause I fit there better and it smells like him. When I want us to play or watch movies, he's almost never busy or too tired. Mommy and step-Stan him sad or mad a lot, but he tries not to show it so I won't know. He likes to worry about everybody, and he takes care of Uncle Steve and Uncle Chin and Auntie Kono at work just like he takes care of me."

Interested by the new names, I pressed, "Who are they?"

"Daddy's friends." The girl played absently with a lock of my hair. It felt very nice. "They're my ohana."

I recognized the Hawaiian term and smiled. "Lucky girl."

She nodded, elaborating, "Uncle Steve's his partner, and Chin and Kono help Danno keep him out of trouble. He says that Uncle Steve would blow up Hawaii to solve a case if they let him get away with it."

I chuckled, imagining what a loose cannon her uncle must be, as she went on, "Today we were shopping with Auntie. Danno doesn't like shopping, but he's really bad at saying no to Kono. He says her looks are even worse than Uncle Steve's, so it's good she doesn't do them very often. Only Uncle Chin can ignore her."

"They sound wonderful, makak."

"They are."

I nodded, thinking of Haiti and the strong bonds that formed between people during times of strife. It was good to know that families still loved each other outside of horrible situations.

More good news: the intersection was only twenty yards ahead. I hadn't seen any traffic yet, but there would be street signs and I could get my bearings from there. The whole sector of the city we were in seemed eerily unpopulated.

I walked onto the new, empty street and checked a sign. Miraculously, I knew where we were. Even better, a blue sign with a large white "H" and an arrow greeted my eyes. I turned in the direction of the hospital and started jogging. It hurt like hell. I didn't stop.

Still hoping to draw my charge into conversation, I inquired breathlessly, "What sort of work does Danno do?"

"He's a policeman. A special one. His team works for the governor," she imparted. Gripping me more firmly, she said with confidence, "He always catches the bad guys."

The pride in her voice was touching. The security her father had given her was priceless. I hoped she never lost it. "He'll go take care of those two for us, then, won't he?"

She nodded, then wondered meekly, "What's makak? And zange?"

"Zanj," I corrected her, "Is a Haitian creole word for 'angel.' Makak means 'monkey.'"

"Oh." She snuggled into my neck. A warm glow suffused my insides. "They're pretty."

Finding the pain too intense, I couldn't manage anything more than a nod in answer. Occupying myself simply with the task of going forward, I extended my strides into a loping run, ignoring the complaints from my leg and shoulder and side.

I had to find help. Where were the people? Where was the hospital? Why was it taking so long?

When the first pedestrian walked across the mouth of the alley I was cutting through, I was almost too surprised to react. Recovering quickly, I tore towards the suddenly crowded causeway onto the packed sidewalk in front of a restaurant. All at once, we were in the thick of a bustling commercial district.

Bemused, I stood and swayed, looking around wildly. Seeing so many people disoriented me. My head was growing thick and fuzzy, and my motor skills had deteriorated considerably since leaving the warehouse.

I staggered back against a wall to collect myself, my mind working frenziedly to come up with a solution. People. People were good. I wanted to find people. But which were the ones I was looking for? Who should I approach with my precious cargo?

The pain from my back making contact with the wall sharpened my mind, albeit briefly. My flying eyes lit upon a passing shirt and stayed there. It was out by the curb—a flash of dark navy blue, a bit of glinting yellow, and a white-and-blue paint job gleaming in the sun.

Something the girl had said came back to me._ "He's a policeman. A special one."_

Fixating on that, I lurched forward, carefully protecting the child clinging to my torso from the jostling bodies. The squad car was parked behind a jeep. Its lights were still flashing, but the two officers were climbing back in, pulling on their seatbelts. They were about to leave.

"Wait!"

I threw myself forward, catching the door before the woman on the passenger side could pull it closed. She turned, frowning, but I couldn't see her face. The jerk of the door on my arm had wrenched something in my side. My already failing vision fluctuated mightily; my grasp of up and down failed. I felt cold and hot simultaneously. Things started to go black.

"Ede. Please," I rasped weakly, hoping I'd gotten the words right. My mind was too foggy to be certain. "Help her."

Before my legs went out, I thrust the girl into the startled policewoman's arms. Then everything inside of me clouded over, and I lost my grip on the top of the door. The last thing I registered was the sensation of dropping towards the ground.

* * *

**To my delight, I was the one called Makak. We all got nicknames. **

**I feel bad for making you listen to me remonstrate. I'll shut up now.**

**Oh, and yay! Grace is Safe! (Was this title cliched or what? I am (mostly) unashamed.)**


	17. Saving Grace, part 5

**Have you ever stayed in a hospital for an extended period of time? ...I haven't, but I imagine those machines would get pretty bothersome after a while. Especially when you were the one plugged into them.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: H50 is not mine! I'm only playing with it for a while!**

* * *

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Well, that was annoying.

Swimming up through the blackness behind my eyelids, I grimaced at the irritating cadence by my ear. As I grew more aware of myself, other details about my surroundings filtered in.

Lying down on something soft. Fabric covering my skin. A gentle, steady whooshing sound. That constant, annoying beeping.

The pain was still there, but muted and distant. It was like I was floating above it, still connected but not pressed into its harsh embrace.

That didn't mean I was comfortable. All was not right in my world. Confused, I slogged through the mud that was my brain, mired in sluggishness, noting each new problem with dismay.

My throat felt clogged and raw; there was an obstruction in it, propping my lips apart and extending down my esophagus. Something itchy and tight enclosed my right shoulder, left leg above the knee, and midsection. The sensation of long, thin snakes twining over and around me left me feeling twitchy and claustrophobic.

I couldn't move.

My eyes wouldn't open. My limbs wouldn't respond. I tried to speak, to call out, but even that was beyond me. Whatever held the pain at bay was also paralyzing me.

Panic clawed past my fog. I wanted to wake up. I wanted to _get_ up. I wanted out of there, _fast_.

Beep.

B-beep.

B-beep-b-beep-b-beep-b-beep-b-beep…

"Heart rate's up. She's really coming out of it this time. Josie, get the doctor."

I didn't recognize the voices for what they were. The sounds didn't make sense. Agitated, I started to thrash about, suddenly aware of my body and desperate to find something to hold on to so I could keep myself awake. Warm vises closed around my arms instead, joining the snakes in restraining me. Frightened, I tried to get away.

"It's no good. She'll tear the stitches."

"Blood pressure's through the roof."

"Sedate her again."

A few moments later, waves of heaviness crashed over me. Darkness beckoned—not restful or natural, but quiet. Unwilling to succumb, I languished in frustration, casting out for any way to center myself, to hold on…but there was nothing. Overcome by exhaustion, I slid back into the woozy darkness, unable to fight my way free.

. . .

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Oh, not _again_.

Scowling inwardly, I elbowed my way through my inner fog towards the irksome sound on the surface. I was ready for the sudden influx of data the second time around—braced for impact. I managed to hold myself together long enough to make sense of it, too, which I found mildly remarkable.

The softness and fabric made a bed. The itchiness was from bandages, the snakes were equipment tubing. The fog and distance from the pain was thanks to medicine—some very _good_ medicine. No clue about the whooshing and beeping, but I was sure once my head cleared a little more they'd make sense, too.

Diagnosis: I was in a hospital bed.

A patient. Not a prisoner.

That wasn't exactly reassuring. My weary mind turned circles trying to figure out the cause behind my situation. _Why am I here? Am I hurt? Obviously something's wrong; I'm a patient. At a hospital. But why? Am I sick? Yes, duh, hospital. _Ad infinitum…

Seeking answers, I pushed past my skull, turning my attention to my ears. Hushed voices reached me, down by my feet. A man and a woman. I didn't know one of them, but something about the male caught my interest. I knew it from somewhere, just not well. Like I'd only heard it once, very briefly…

"When's she gonna wake up?"

The woman sounded clinical, detached. "In her own time. Her body needs to heal; it's likely she'll sleep for days on her own even now that we've stopped sedating her. She's got a lot on her plate right now."

The man laughed humorlessly. "Believe me, I know. I just spent the morning reading through her file. It's like a compendium of everything that could possibly go wrong for somebody."

The nurse didn't seem interested. I imagined her checking her watch and looking busy. There was a hint of an edge in her voice when she pressed, "Is there anything else?"

"No. Not really," the man sighed. Then his voice got slightly louder, as though he had turned his face in my direction. "Has she just been left here alone?"

He sounded concerned. That was odd. And nice. I wondered if he worried often.

"My nurses have other responsibilities, detective. They check on her periodically, but there are more patients to take care of. Perhaps if you could find a family member?"

I bristled at the veiled condescension in her tone, but he just sounded bleak when he answered. "We've tried. Even with an ID, finally, there's no one to find. No parents, no relatives, no friends living local. Her brother was due back at the naval base for leave this week, but he just went MIA in Afghanistan."

_MIA_.

I knew that term. It meant "Missing In Action." For some reason, I felt a special sort of hatred well up in me for the phrase. It had done wrong to me, somehow, committed some unforgivable act of betrayal. I just couldn't quite figure out what it was…

_"__Her brother was due back…"_

_Oh, God. _Carson.

All of a sudden, my head was a little _too_ lucid for my liking. Shrinking away from the crushing loss and fear and loneliness, I retreated hastily into my exhaustion. For once, the blackness felt like a shield as it crashed down between me and the outside world.

. . .

* * *

**Somebody really ought to do something about this brother situation.**

**Oh, wait. I'm the only "somebody." *Goes off to work***


	18. Saving Grace, part 6

**~Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling~ **

**(I'm listening to sad folk music. This song is beautiful, but it always makes me melancholy. I've gone to switch it six or seven times, but I know I'll probably get Greensleeves and then be even sadder.)**

**Well, that was completely irrelevant. Who's tired? "THIS ONE."**

**But I must...keep...typing...**

* * *

**Disclaimer: H50 is not mine! I'm only playing with it for a while!**

* * *

. . .

"Wake up."

The soft words were a welcome change from the beeping.

Reacting muzzily to their command, I found it surprisingly easy to obey. My senses reported with only minor disorientation as they came online, and I was pleased to find that the beeping didn't go ballistic on me again. Even better, the pipe in my throat was gone, so I could swallow and breathe on my own.

It was still a struggle to snap fully out of it, though. I got stuck on the edge of opening my eyes. I just needed one little push, some trigger to get me going…

Someone took my hand.

Eyes flying open, I winced at the glare of the fluorescent lights overhead. I felt sleepy and thick, the way I did when I took too long of a nap during the afternoon, and it took me a moment to make sense of my surroundings. I actually _was_ in a hospital room. It was nice to be right.

"Are you really awake this time?"

Jolted out of my inner satisfaction, I swiveled my head to the left. The motion was boneless and dizzying; I was still flying high on whatever pain meds the doctors had given me.

That didn't dampen my shock when two brown doe eyes met mine, solemn and worried.

It was the little girl. She was sitting at my bedside, clasping my hand in both of hers. Her expression was serious and a bit hooded. I could see deep concern lurking behind it; it made me sad. Flexing my fingers, I squeezed her hands experimentally and coaxed my lips into a gentle smile.

"Yes, zanj. I'm awake," I assured her, my voice rough from disuse. "It's good to see you."

She blinked at my evidently unexpected greeting, answering my grip with a tight squeeze of her own. Then she reached over and picked up a glass of water, holding it to my lips.

Not bothered by her lack of a verbal response, I examined her myself as I drank, pleased with what I found. She had been cleaned and wore new clothes. The cut on her temple was bandaged, and no other signs of her harrowing experience showed on her person.

…Although, there were deep purple marks below her eyes—she hadn't been sleeping well, maybe. I gathered that I had spent a few days unconscious.

"You shouldn't have carried me so far."

Caught daydreaming again, I looked at her quizzically. Her face was still distressingly guarded, maybe even guilty. Reaching up, I disentangled my fingers from her so I could stroke the side of her long hair and fell back on the humor that had gotten me through years of tough situations.

"I'm new here. Thought we'd take the scenic route so I could look around."

Her jaw remained stubbornly set, resisting my invitation to relax and let her worries go, focus on her own plight as any child should. I had to admire her doggedness. "You got shot."

My head was too slow to come up with a witty reply for that, so I just nodded. At my concession, her face remained impassive, but there was a hint of accusation in her eyes as she continued, "You said he missed you."

Ah. Right. Yes. But then again, Willy _had_ put a lot more holes in the walls than he had me. "He _did_ miss," I defended myself. "Multiple times. He was a horrible shot."

She smiled a little at that, which had me verging on giddy. Then she sobered, putting her hand over mine on the side of her face. "You still shouldn't have carried me."

"I had to run for the both of us, makak," I disagreed, wanting to take the guilt away from her. "It got us to where we needed to be faster." Then, before I could censor myself, I added, "Besides, you had to hold the blood in, or I wouldn't have made reached help at all."

She blinked, owl-eyed. I felt appalled. Covering my eyes with my good hand, I moaned in utter disgust, "I should _not_ be having this conversation with you while medicated."

"It's all right."

Before I knew it, the mattress indented, and there was a small, careful body of warmth curling up next to me. I stilled, peeking out from under my arm. Doe eyes blinked back at me, solemn and concerned and grateful.

Oh.

She really was worried about me. Beautiful little thing. My head was starting to fog again, but I didn't want to leave her fretting. Tucking my left arm around her, I held her close and smiled, not sure what to make of the calm, wise little creature.

"Zanj—" I stopped, frowning a bit. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Grace."

"Very pretty," I complimented her, laboriously tracking down what I had been going to say.

"What's your name?" she interrupted, looking at me intently.

I opened my mouth, but no answer was readily available. I frowned. "I don't remember."

"Okay." Unbothered, she settled down into my shoulder, one hand reaching up to toy with my hair. "You be zanj, then."

I had to swallow after that. Did she remember what that meant?

Much softer than before, I began anew, "Grace, I'm going to be fine, I promise you. A promise is a promise, and in my family we never break our word. You don't have to worry."

She nodded, relaxing infinitesimally. "Okay."

I smiled into her hair. "Now, why don't you try to sleep? You seem a little tired."

"I had nightmares," she muttered guiltily, wrapping her arm across my ribs to hug me. It made my side twinge a little, but I would never dream of stopping her. "I'm making Danno worry."

"That's because he loves you very much," I declared in a firm voice, petting her hair soothingly. "He won't mind if you're scared. He just wants you to feel better. Nightmares are part of that, sometimes."

I felt her face scrunch up in distaste against my skin. "I wish they weren't."

"Everybody does." I laughed a little, winced, and tried to cover it up by nudging her shoulder. "Now go to sleep."

"…'kay."

She snuggled down again and closed her eyes, beginning to breathe evenly. I continued to stroke her hair, humming a little of a Haitian lullaby. Soon the little girl was completely out. I smiled at her smooth face and finished the last few bars, tucking a few stray locks behind her ear. Sleeping children were so wonderful to look at.

A new presence made itself known to me. Forcing myself not to stiffen and wake Grace, I looked up.

There was a man leaning against the door frame. I had no idea how long he'd been there, which made me cringe a little, but rather than fidget I devoted my meager portion of drug-free brainpower to looking him over.

He was compact, blond, and haggard. His tie was undone and his shirt looked slept in, but his blue eyes held nothing but affection as he stared at Grace. I smiled tentatively, fairly sure who he was.

"It's Danno, isn't it? Come in."

He looked startled to be addressed. Still, he came over, nodding. Halting by my bed, he stood with his hands in his pockets, silent. I could tell he was a cop by the way his eyes raked over me—quick, efficient, and observant. There was also an understandable amount of personal investment sharpening his gaze. I wasn't bothered by it.

Gazing back evenly, I murmured, "You have an amazing daughter."

He nodded again, swiping a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know."

He sounded bone-tired, but relieved. Then he looked straight at me for the first time, leaving me to contend with one of the most intense shades of blue I'd ever dealt with.

"Thank you. So much."

I just smiled. I was always uncomfortable with any sort of gratitude, but I wouldn't belittle his thanks or Grace by brushing it off. I was saved from having to think up some sort of reply by a second man's entrance.

He was tall, lean, and dark-colored, as if he'd been designed to contrast with the other man. He was also slightly more put together than my current visitor, though they shared a rampant case of good looks and his face held the same taught, exhausted undertone as Danno's.

The first thing his eyes went to when he walked in was Grace. Seeing her fast asleep, something in his expression lost tension, and his eyes softened much like her father's had. He was clearly protective and fond of her. I warmed to him immediately.

He walked over to stand by the first man. I went very still.

I recognized that walk. It was confident, coiled, capable. My brother had exhibited it since his first day home from boot camp. Was this man a SEAL, too, or just military? My throat closed up until I made myself smile and speak to him.

"You must be Uncle Steve." An ex- or off-duty soldier would fit the sort of troublemaker Grace had described perfectly.

He was surprised by my recognition as well. "Ah, yeah. That's me. Steve McGarrett." He inclined his head towards his friend. "I work with Danny."

I looked down and straightened a pleat on Grace's skirt, a bit shy. "I know. Grace told me."

At her name, the little girl shifted, so we all cut off, waiting in silence until she lapsed back into deep slumber.

As the moments passed, I watched Steve and Danny, noting how they stood, thinking about what they did. They were action-oriented men, obviously: doers, not watchers or waiters. It must have been a nightmare for them to not be in the thick of things, saving their beloved Grace. I could only imagine how frustrating it was to be patient while I recovered enough to gain consciousness and tell my side of what had gone on.

In respect to that, I opened with, "Did you catch them all?"

Danny raised an eyebrow. "What, the two guys you dropped a warehouse on? Yeah. We found them. They weren't going anywhere."

The memory of Willy's scream echoed through my head. I suppressed a shiver, inquiring quietly, "Did either of them make it?"

Steve shook his head. My stomach twisted.

I had killed two men.

Granted, they were trying their best to kill _me_, but that didn't really do much to make me feel better. At least, not until I realized what might have happened to Grace had I not been there to get rid of them. I looked down at her serene, sleeping face where it was pressed into my shoulder. Suddenly I wasn't so nauseous.

Refocusing on the two policemen, I forcibly moved past my discomfiture. They wanted to know about Grace, not my moral crisis. "Um. There was another one. On the phone. He gave them instructions. His name was Harry. The man who took Grace was speaking on the phone in another language for a while, too. It sounded Norwegian."

They exchanged a look, instantly switching into business mode. "We've been looking for others involved," McGarrett explained, pulling out his phone. "A name will help."

He fired off a text while Danny watched me intently. Moving a bit closer, he started absently running his fingers through his daughter's hair. Grace sighed and relaxed a little more against me in her sleep. It felt like my smile had become permanently set into my face.

"She says you were there when she woke up at the cannery."

I shifted, realizing we were moving on to the big questions. "Yes. I snuck in while they were busy setting up the video equipment. It's a good thing they chose a machine shop to work in, or I'd have never found something to open the cage with."

The look on Danny's face when I said "cage" made me regret being so frank. I hadn't forgotten that it was his daughter involved, but the drugs were making my filter very shaky. I reminded myself to be doubly careful about what I said from then on.

McGarrett rejoined the conversation as I was making my resolution. "And then you carried her halfway across the district to one of the only squad cars not monitoring the parade, getting shot three times and taking out two professional hit men in the process."

"…Yes?" It sounded so unbelievable when he said it out loud. I blinked disconcertedly as all the words registered. "Were they really hit men?"

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, "Yes. They really were."

I gave him a sympathetic look, aware of how utterly wrong the situation must seem to him. Stepping closer, McGarrett kept on with the practical matters, obviously the only one among us composed or sober enough to think straight.

"Why don't you start from the beginning?"

So I did. I told them an abbreviated version of what had happened from the bus stop to the curb and the police officers, keeping just to the facts. I was bone-tired by the end of it—my eyes actually drifted shut against my will a few times. I managed to get through it all without yawning, at least.

I was fooling myself to think two detectives wouldn't notice me flagging, however. As soon as they had my story, Steve and Danny stood to go. Stooping over my bedside, Grace's father gathered her into his arms with the ease of long practice and moved towards the door. I was fading, already half-asleep, so he left in silence, his daughter cradled against his chest.

McGarrett turned to follow him out, but then he paused, looking back down at me. "That was…an incredible thing you did."

I shook my head. "No. It was just the right thing."

. . .

* * *

**I do love me a good humble hero. **

**Are we done yet...?**


	19. Saving Grace, part 7 (Epilogue)

**No! Not Done! **

**You didn't think I'd just abandon her alone in a hospital bed, did you?**

**...It's okay if you did.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: H50 is not mine! I'm only playing with it for a while!**

* * *

. . .

A touch on my hand was the first thing to pull me out of unconsciousness. The transition from sleep didn't take nearly as much effort as it had before; I opened my eyes and sought out the person holding me, expecting Grace or maybe a member of her ohana.

_What_?

"I don't think I've ever seen you sleep for more than an hour before."

I froze, gaping up at the specter grinning down at me.

Green eyes, the exact dark shade as mine. Caramel-colored, curly hair tamed only by a ruthless buzz cut, a straight nose dotted by the spray of freckles that covered both cheeks as well.

Two faint, vertical scars below the left eye. A new white strip of gauze taped over the right temple. A matching white elbow cast. Dark leg brace. Gray t-shirt. Navy-blue khakis. Dog tags.

_Carson_.

My heart thudded so hard against my ribcage that I almost jerked with it.

_How? How could he be here? He's gone. MIA. Taken from me. _

_But he's _here_. _

_Does that mean…_

"I'm dead." Strangely enough, the thought didn't bother me as much as I'd expected.

Carson's grin went a little crooked. Shaking his head in fond exasperation, he reached out. I jumped when I felt his fingers touch the side of my face. He still gripped my hand firmly, giving it a quick squeeze.

"Not quite."

For a long moment, I didn't know what to do. I simply couldn't understand how my twin brother, whom I loved so much and lost so abruptly, could have come to be there. Frozen, I sat and waited for it all to become clear, for something to sit up and make sense.

_He's alive_.

With a choked sob, I lurched forward, throwing my arms around his neck and holding onto him in a desperate hug. I didn't even recognize the pain when my side lit on fire.

Carson was alive. Carson was _there_.

For some reason, I was sobbing like a baby, and even his startled exclamation couldn't make me calm down.

"Jesus, sis! Stitches, remember?"

"Shut up and hug," I muttered, my face buried in his shoulder.

A moment later, his rigid posture relaxed. His arms wrapped obediently around my back, pulling me close.

I smiled into his soaked shirt. Tears were still running down my face, but my initial shock had worn off. More or less. Sniffing, I pulled back from him slightly, leaning into his arms. We eyed each other critically.

"You look horrible."

I grinned. I'd forgotten how nice it was to have someone to say all your sentences with. Even though we were fraternal twins, Carson and I had always had a knack for speaking in stereo. Favoring him with a half-hearted glare, I poked the shoulder of the arm with the cast. All at once, we were both dead serious.

"Don't ever do that to me again."

Smiling blissfully, I hugged him tightly again, murmuring in tandem, "Deal."

"That is one of the strangest things I've ever seen."

Opening my eyes, I found a much more rested and relaxed Danny in my doorway. A mixture of amusement and incredulity colored his features as he watched our reunion.

The smile I gave him could have lit up Hawaii at night. "You did this?" I pressed him, still happily holding onto the person I loved above all else in the world. "You brought him home?"

He fidgeted, looking a little uncomfortable under the full brunt of my sunshine, but Carson wouldn't let him shrug out of his due.

"The cell that ambushed my patrol has ties to a gunrunner here in Hawaii. Apparently somebody"—he looked meaningfully at the blond detective—"called in a tip that helped track them down through the dealer. …My team was able to find me because of it."

He'd hesitated half a second, which of course I caught. For the time being, I would let it slide, but once I was out of the hospital and he didn't have an excuse to worry about me anymore, I'd wheedle the rest out of him. I stayed silent as he went on.

"I was just out of surgery at Bastion when my CO walked in and told me I was getting a ride home. It took a day or two until I was stable, but Williams here and Commander McGarrett had me flown over as soon as I could travel."

So, in short, Grace's father and his team had saved my twin brother.

Taking a deep breath, I allowed the enormity of that miracle to crash over me, closing my eyes and drinking in the familiar scent of my sole surviving family member and best friend. Then I looked over at Danny again.

He'd given me back the most important thing in the world. Unable to speak through the tightening in my throat, I had to hope that the look on my face was enough to convey the utter, overwhelming gratitude I felt.

Danno shoved his hands back in his pockets and smiled. My gratefulness reflected back at me in his blue eyes; I remembered that I wasn't the only one who'd gotten back someone I loved. His voice was warm as he backed towards the door.

"Just returning the favor."

* * *

**I forgot the rest of the extra credit info. Sorry. **

**Some things to know:**

**Port-au-Prince: capital of Haiti**

**Haitian Vocab:**

**Zanj: angel**

**Makak: monkey**

**Manchèt: machete**

**Ede: help**

**Sooooooo...how was it?**


	20. Surf's Up

**Another one! Yaaaay!**

**I should mention that none of these have been edited very well...**

* * *

**Disclaimer: H50 is not mine! I'm only playing with it for a while!**

* * *

The waves in Hawaii were _huge_. Standing on the beach, working hard to hold my new board as it wobbled on top of my head, I gaped in wonder at the water as it leapt up and crashed down again. I'd been waiting for weeks to go on vacation so I could go surfing, but looking at those monstrous curls, I wasn't so sure anymore.

The water I'd surfed on back home wasn't half as unruly. Lake Michigan was big, but it couldn't come up with the ocean's brand of power. I'd never seen water reach so high or roll so fast. Even a lot of the grown-ups out there couldn't seem to stay upright for very long.

Frowning, I dropped my board and sat down in the sand in dejection. It didn't seem like a ten-year-old was big enough to handle a board on a _real_ wave.

"What's the matter, pint-size?" my brother Casey taunted as he ran past, his own surfboard held carelessly under one arm. He was sixteen and always teasing me. "Scared?"

Sand from his footsteps flew into my face. I flinched back and scowled at him, shouting petulantly, "No! I just don't wanna go in there with _you_!"

He laughed and started paddling out into deeper water. Leaving me behind. Again.

I sighed and slumped, dropping my chin on my fists. My first time in Hawaii, and my brother was going to go surfing without me. He was supposed to be helping me get started while mom and dad relaxed on the towel under the umbrella. _Not_ smirking at me from atop his own surfboard while I sat stranded on the beach. I rubbed my heels in the sand grumpily, considering appealing to our mother.

"He giving you trouble?"

Turning, I looked up and saw a girl standing behind me. She was tan, pretty, and big like my brother—maybe even an adult. I wondered if she was Hawaiian. She definitely looked at home on the beach and in her bright purple swimsuit. I admired the tall, bright surfboard she was holding as I nodded.

She smiled. "He's your brother, huh?"

When I nodded yes again, she glanced out where Casey was getting ready to stand up on a wave. I hoped he would fall in while she was watching, but he didn't. He was really good at sports and stuff. I wasn't. It was annoying.

All of a sudden, the girl crouched next to me, inclining her head towards my board. "You surf, brah?"

Giggling at the Hawaiian slang, I nodded proudly. "Dad taught me this summer. We go on the big lake back home."

She raised her eyebrows, impressed. "A lake, huh? I bet the ocean seems a bit different."

"Yeah." I frowned.

Looking over my dry shorts and hair, she asked, "You ready to try it out?"

"I can't. The waves are too big," I admitted in frustration, watching my toes wiggle under the sand. "I'm too small."

"Nah, you can do it!" she disagreed. "I've seen loads of kids surf. I bet it'll be a piece of cake once you get out there."

I wasn't convinced. Looking doubtfully out at the heaving sea, I weighed my desire to have fun and get better at surfing against the certainty that I'd fall a lot and Casey would heckle me mercilessly. He'd been an enormous pain already, and we were only a day into our trip.

On the other hand, I had been _dreaming_ about getting up on a board…

The girl saw my indecision. Scooting closer, she drew my attention again. She had a very nice smile. "Tell you what—why don't you come surfing with me?"

I blinked. "Really?"

"Sure," she confirmed. "I can show you how to surf island-style and you can teach me some of your lake moves. Sound good?"

I just about nodded my head off, I was so excited. But then I stopped, suddenly remembering the _looong_ speech my parents had forced me to listen to before we went on vacation. Sheepishly, I told her, "I'm not supposed to go places with strangers."

She nodded understandingly. "You're right. Are your parents around? Maybe I can introduce myself, and then I won't be a stranger anymore."

Well, that sounded like a good plan to me. Nodding, I got up and led the way over to our family towel, leaving my board where it had fallen. My parents had been watching our exchange. When I led my new friend over, they both sat up attentively, setting aside their book or newspaper.

"Who's this, Kyler?" my mom inquired, looking the girl over.

"Um." I suddenly realized that I didn't know her name. I turned to her inquisitively.

"My name's Kono," she filled in smoothly, holding out her hand. My dad shook it. "Kyler and I were just talking about surfing. He's a little nervous about going on the ocean alone, so I offered to tag along with him out for a little while, if that's all right."

My mom looked at me. She had her irritated-with-Casey look on. I smothered a smile.

"His brother is supposed to be helping him," she explained, a bit embarrassed.

Kono's expression was without judgment. "That's all right. It'll be more fun to show him up anyway, right Kyler?"

Grinning, I nodded and gave my mother my best puppy-dog look. "Please mom? We'll be right where you can see us."

Had we not been on vacation, I would have never pulled it off, but a morning massage and the Hawaiian sunshine had worn down my mother's defenses. Glancing at my dad—who was way more laid back and had probably been fine with Kono before she even came over—she finally shrugged and picked up her book again.

"Oh, all right. Go have fun. Thank you, Kono."

"No problem." Giving them both a parting smile, she turned to me with a look of pure mischief. "Now let's go get him!"

Before I knew it, we had run down to the water. Kono had me sit on her board and paddled out into the bay, bringing us out to the right spot for wave-catching. I saw Casey off to the side, racing to get back as far as we were before the next wave came. He was never going to make it.

The swell came, and Kono angled us to catch it. Moments later, the water surged beneath us. I laughed and stood up when she told me to, feeling her climb up behind me.

It was awesome. The wind whipped in my face, the water flew beneath us. Kono directed us side to side a little, so I bent my knees and helped her out. She gave me the surf's-up signal in the corner of my eye.

In front of us, Casey sat on his board, gawking. Whether his shock stemmed from seeing me up on a board or the fact that I'd made friends with a pretty girl, it was hard to tell. I reveled in his disbelief anyway. The look on his face was priceless as we swept by and our wave sent him toppling into the water.

Throwing my arms out, I whooped as loud as I could, beaming. Surfing in Hawaii wasn't at all like what I'd imagined.

It was _better_.

* * *

**I do not know how to surf. It saddens me. However, were I faced with Hawaiian waves while learning, I am very certain that I would walk away dry and still unable to stand up on a board. *eheh***

**All thoughts and comments are treasured. **

**One more...**


	21. Shut Up and Drive

**Okay, I lied. There's one more after this. Then I am going to sleep for a very long while.**

**Here we go!**

***re-edit* **

**Okay, that was super embarrassing. I just realized I copied the wrong draft onto here. For all of you smirking at my [car name] boxes, I am so sorry. I thought I had corrected that. The car, by the way, is a 2014 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray. H50 is a Chevy show, and it was one of the coolest cars in Transformers 3, so I used it.**

***another friggin' re-edit***

**It was Transformers 4. *cries***

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**Disclaimer: H50 is not mine! I'm only playing with it for a while!**

* * *

I was driving home from the body shop when it happened. My worst nightmare, stuff out of legend. In other words: Steve McGarrett, Five-0.

The boulevard seemed like a good idea at the time. I'd roll down the beach front, showing off my ride and its new paint job. I didn't soup up an already-amazing Corvette Stingray just to shove it back in the garage to hide.

Then there was a shooting.

I didn't see the actual event, but the huge crowd of people running away from the beach was a clue. The popping sound of a gun going off drifted over the sand to my window as well. Almost immediately, traffic stalled. Groaning, I maneuvered over to the side of the road by an intersection. As soon as cars started moving again, I could take the turn and get out of there.

There was a little while where all I could see was the mass exodus of beachgoers. Then their shouts escalated into screams again, and the hurrying turned into a stampede. I wondered if I should just get out and head for a building, but there was no way I was leaving my car.

Bodies made the whole frame rock as people rushed past. "Oy!" I shouted angrily as some john in a suit hit my fender. "Watch the paint job!" Then a beautiful woman all but sprawled across my hood. "Oh. She can stay."

Up ahead, sirens approached. The squad cars got stuck in the melee of vehicles and people, lights flashing uselessly. I watched a few officers get out and start threading against the current towards the ocean. Turning with them, I tried to see what all the commotion was about.

Once the sand had cleared, a lone figure became clear. Some dude was running along the water towards the area that had been evacuated. I did _not_ like the look of the automatic rifle in his hands.

Apparently, the tall dude chasing after him didn't share my nervousness. He was running full out after the shooter, gaining fast.

Then his target hopped on an abandoned lifeguard four-wheeler and revved it. Wrenching it around, he sped towards the road. Concerned, I saw that the stolen ride wasn't slowing down as the bumper-to-bumper deadlock on the boulevard approached.

_Oh, no. He isn't gonna_…

The first car made a horrible crunching sound when the four-wheeler drove over its hood. Steering up the windshield while the car alarm started shrieking, the crazy runaway drove onto the next car over and kept going, all the way across the street. One driver tried to get out and stop him, but the thug pulled out another gun and put a slug in her for her trouble.

_Oh, shit_.

Gripping my steering wheel, I sank lower into my seat, very glad that my car was a few rows back from the action. The four-wheeler made it to the cross street and sped away. I sighed in relief. Then something made me turn and look back towards the ocean.

The tall dude was still running after his guy. Sprinting, actually. He made it to the sidewalk, and there he stopped, gauging the situation in the street. I'd never seen someone work so hard to catch a criminal. He had to be built to jump over the whole boardwalk the way he had, and even though he'd been running for over two football fields he wasn't winded. I saw the badge on his belt and put two and two together.

McGarrett.

_Oh…_shit.

I was looking at friggin' Steve see-him-coming-and-wet-your-pants _McGarrett_. The guys who hung out around the machine shops had crazy stories to tell about him—usually from the point of view of someone who'd pissed him off. I'd seen a video on my buddy's phone of him putting a bobcat through a dealer's window. Another friend of mine knew a guy who still had scars from when Five-0's leader had tackled him out of a moving car and off a bridge.

And there the guy was, less than twenty feet from me. Never before had I been happier that my mama had kept me on the straight and narrow growing up.

Having looked over all his options, McGarrett went into action. I admired how adeptly he leapt over and around the mess of cars and people…until I realized where he was going.

Straight at the flashiest, fastest car on the block.

Namely, mine.

Feeling my stomach drop to somewhere below my ankles, I remembered that I'd put myself in the best position to get onto the street that the bad guy had driven down. My car was also the best for stunt driving on that side of the city—a magnetizing factor for McGarrett, if the stories were to be believed. I'd heard he drove like a maniac.

And he wanted to drive _my_ car? I'd sooner face torture.

"Please go away. Pick another car. I just got it redone, man, _please_ find another car…" I begged under my breath.

No good. All of a sudden, the big man was there. A badge flashed in my window. "Excuse me, sir, can I use your car? I'm—"

"McGarrett. Five-0. Yeah, I know," I cut him off resignedly, putting the car in park.

Every fiber of my being was screaming for me to roll up the window and get my baby as far away from him as possible, but I unclicked my seatbelt and opened the door instead. My mama had raised me to respect the law. Besides, that guy with the gun had probably killed people. He shouldn't be running around in the city.

McGarrett slid into the driver's seat. The molded padding fit him like it was made for him. Envious and mildly panicking, I closed the door for him and stepped back. "Just—try not to hurt her, okay?" I pleaded, watching him adjust the mirror. "My info's in the glove box."

"I'll return it," the SEAL promised. Then he cranked the wheel and hit the gas. My baby roared like a song as he pulled her up onto the sidewalk and around the curve, screaming back onto the asphalt after his man.

I was not reassured. "Great," I muttered weakly as the rear bumper peeled out of sight. I scuffed the toe of my shoe on one of the black streaks my tires had left on the road. "In how many pieces?"

The walk home was long and gloomy. Thoughts of five-car pileups with my pride and joy crumpled at the bottom, buildings with beautiful cars rammed through their walls, and all other manner of McGarrett-style scenarios entertained me all the way to my driveway.

When I rounded the mailbox and looked up, I saw my car parked right in the middle of my garage, gleaming. I couldn't believe it. Running up to the spotless hood, I checked her over. Nothing was out of place, miraculously.

Except for a bullet hole right over the driver's-side door handle.

After gaping at it for a few moments, I still couldn't tell if I was horrified or impressed. I opened the door rather than continue waffling, noting that none of the inner mechanisms had been damaged. The tank was full, and there was an envelope sitting on the passenger seat with an insane amount of money inside.

There was a note along with it: _"For repairs, if you want. We got the guy. Mahalo. –McGarrett."_

That night, we watched the news footage of McGarrett chasing the four-wheeler down and saving a few civilians from the trigger-happy driver. In _my_ car. I gotta admit, that was pretty flippin' nice to see.

…Okay, it was probably the coolest thing that ever happened to me.

My mama framed the note and has it hanging on our wall. I used the money to start an account to get me my own car shop. My Stingray and its distinctive paint job are still verifying my story to anyone who asks about it.

And I am _never_ getting that bullet hole repaired.

* * *

**I thought McGarrett needed to have some fun. I haven't paid him any special attention for a while. :)**

**And by the way, I would totally freak out if I saw him coming towards my car. Especially if I had just got it fixed (my bumper has needed TLC for months now. A repair is much-coveted.).**


	22. Assassin's Creed

**Oh. My 13th storyline. I suddenly am anxious about how this is going to go...**

**Please don't hate it. If you do, though, that's fine. I won't judge.**

**Just cry.**

**Argh. **

* * *

**Disclaimer: H50 is not mine! I'm only playing with it for a while!**

***small language warning***

* * *

I used to work for The Company. The pay was bearable, the cause was idealistic, and the coworkers were easy to make fun of, if not the greatest people to hang around. Then, somewhere along the way, things got complicated.

I was sorry to see the slide, but facts were facts. Missions started getting obscure, the backup sparse. A few ops went spectacularly bad over in Eastern Europe because of some shoddy overhead at Langley, and suddenly we Mechanics no longer had the backing that the bosses promised at sign-up. The scapegoats had been decided, and I was among the marked.

So I split. An assassin with CIA training can bring in a pretty dollar doing freelance work. Some of the Eastern Bloc countries were happy to pay my way onto their soil and bankroll a few of my "business trips." I developed a top-notch reputation and a solid stream of income from eager clients. Life was good.

Until I took the Pederson job.

As the American Ambassador to a certain country that will remain unnamed, he was a high-profile target. My job was to make sure he wasn't around to continue snooping into the foreign government's affairs. Evidently, his inspections were coming a little too close to some of their shadier operations.

Since they couldn't risk sending one of their own after him in-country and getting caught, the higher-ups of the nation decided to hire out. I was the top pick for the job. It was nice, getting all the first referrals. Still, I had a moment of self-questioning when I realized that I was about to murder a representative of the country I had once sworn to die for.

Ah, well. Down to business.

Ambassador Pederson was a careful man. He hadn't married or played around, so there was no family to consider—always a nice detail to look for as a professional killer. Crises of conscience became few and far between after a while, but whenever there were family figures under your belt, it got harder to brush off the guilt.

Actually, Pederson made things fun, for a while. His security was tight, his routines simple but protected. If I had the license to do a flashier kill, I'd have had him a few times over, but my clients wanted subtlety. The more distance I could put between them and his death, the better.

So it seemed like a great idea to take him out when he wasn't even in the country. Every year, the guy went on vacation to the states. That year, he happened to choose Hawaii. Great, I was thinking. I'd catch a little sun, enjoy the tropics, and get paid a nice lump of money.

That lightheartedness lasted right up until I started the preliminary recon. As far as the states went, Hawaii was high in military presence thanks to its strategic location in the Pacific, and the tourism had beefed up the law enforcement as far as alertness and experience. That didn't matter. I'd capped Generals in the middle of their bases and cut down convicts while they were still walking between their arresting officers.

What I had not done—and did not wish to do—was deal with that damn governor's squad. Steve McGarrett and I had a few run-ins while he was still in Naval Intelligence, and I'd watched from afar as he climbed the ranks and ran roughshod over anti-Americans in almost all of the U.S.A.'s conflict zones. When I'd heard he'd transferred to the reserves after his run with the SEAL's, I thought that was the end of him.

Until organized crime started hemorrhaging around the Hawaiian Islands. I stayed on the periphery of that action, but my contacts in the circuits passed on the whispers. The Super-SEAL was back in action, and he had some very capable hands backing him up.

The cop he'd made his partner had an absurd amount of cases closed for someone so young, and that was before he transferred from Jersey. The two locals who made up the rest of their unit were reported just as capable, one skilled and hardened by experience, the other young and innately talented.

Plainly told, I just didn't want to deal with Five-0.

Security details were well-trained mercenaries with robotic flaws, and an average stateside police force was spread-out, underpaid, and undermanned. The threat from them was laughable. No, what usually put a wrench in the works for an experienced operative like me was a smaller, tight-knit team that had starry-eyed morals on their side and could function like a well-oiled machine under fire.

And if my info was good—my info was always very good—that was exactly the sort of squad that Hawaii had policing its shores.

When I realized the sort of unintentional security blanket Pederson was wrapping around himself, I just about blew my top. Leave it to some righteous, patriotic dope to pick the once vacation spot where I couldn't expect smooth sailing. I was pissed. He was going to die, pay or no pay, at that point.

So I made my preparations. The ambassador left for America, and I slipped in after him, tailing him to his hotel and favorite haunts, scoping out my options. I would have loved to just drop him and disappear, but I had to be careful. Until I was sure I could get away unscathed, I would have to take it slow and bide my time.

When I finally decided on the place for the kill, I'd been in Hawaii three days. Pederson was leaving on the morning of the fifth, so by his timeline and the one my employers had given me, I had one more day to get the job done. I couldn't wait to be out of there. By then, I had more than my fill of Hawaii and its golden crew.

The first night, there was a bulletin on the news reporting the arrest of a notorious blood diamond smuggler by—what a surprise—Five-0.

The next day, I was following Pederson on his heavily-guarded stroll down the beach when there was a boat chase out in the bay that turned out to be Steve McGarrett and a drug dealer. I wasn't sure how the guy made it to the beach, but he did. Watching surreptitiously from a sunglasses stand, I thought he was home free.

…Until a surfboard swung out from behind the corner of the beach shelter and clotheslined him. Detective Williams was cuffing the guy by the time McGarrett made it up the sand to help. I watched in disbelief. They bickered like a married couple, but there was clearly no way that thug could have gotten away from them.

Finally, on the day I made my decision, Five-0 made the six o'clock news for showing up at a charity event to help kids with terminal diseases.

I was so sick of seeing their faces by then that I resolved to off Pederson no matter what the consequences and flee directly, damn any suspicious flags it might raise.

Since I was currently sitting and watching him, I got right to it. I was in the bar that I had determined was the most compromising point of his daily routine; I marked out my plan right at the table.

I would get him the next night as he nursed the second of exactly three martinis and then hop a plan back to Europe. There I could burn away all memories of Five-0 with a generous portion of my considerable earnings and pretend Steve McGarrett never existed.

Feeling much better, I finished off my Longboard—Hawaii's tourism racket certainly had its markets properly saturated—and headed back to my hotel for the night. I would spend the evening on the balcony enjoying the little bit of tropical air that hadn't been soured for me. My radio and TV would stay off, lest I see any more fawning over those damn do-gooders.

Come morning, I was packed and geared up for action. I would follow Pederson all day just to be safe, but I wasn't so much looking for a chance to get him as much as I was making sure he behaved to my liking. The evening would come soon enough.

The day progressed. I made sure all my escape plans were in place and yawned through Pederson's daily conference with another visiting official. Thousands of corrupt politicians to choose from, and I wound up with not only one of the most boring ones but his goody-goody friend as well. There wasn't even any worthwhile dirt to tape and save for later.

Seven o'clock rolled around, and I gratefully let the ambassador precede me into his favorite Hawaiian watering hole. At least he was going to die in a place he liked. I could be nice, too. Sometimes.

I would give my target ten minutes to get settled in. Sensing the day drawing to a close, his surprisingly unobtrusive security detail was in the habit of relaxing without meaning to, and Pederson himself completely forgot about remaining vigilant after he ordered his first drink. That's when I would pop in and give him a surprise.

The time was up. I strode into the bar. Pederson was sitting in his usual place, perched on a stool down at the end of the bartender's run. I was about to make my way over when a burst of laughter from one of the booths made me pause. I'd heard one of those laughs before…

"It's not funny!" someone snapped indignantly, much to his companions' amusement. "If this goof had dropped it six inches sooner, I'd be down a leg right now!"

I missed the next comment, because I'd finally recognized the voice I'd heard. Keeping my posture innocuous by sheer force of will, I swiveled slowly to look into the booth.

Danny Williams glared at his partner across the table while McGarrett and their two other teammates broke down laughing. There was a new cut on his cheek since I'd seen him last, and the adventures of the day had left all four of them a little singed and very rumpled. They didn't seem to care. Williams gave in and started smiling with them, and it was plain to see that they were enjoying their night out together.

My evening, on the other hand, had just been irrevocably destroyed. Five-0. I had spent my whole time in Hawaii trying to avoid that squad catching onto my scent, and then its members show up while off duty at the worst possible place and moment for me.

God fucking damn it.

I stared at them a few moments longer, acutely aware of the ambassador nursing his drink in the corner and the door waiting back where I came from. My inner war over the assignment and my own neck lasted about ten seconds. Then I turned and made my choice.

My clients liked to whisper that I always came through on a job. That was true. Since my days at Langley, I had completed every assignment given to me. I had vowed to myself from day one that I would never walk away from mission without seeing it through to the end. I liked to think of it as a matter of my professional pride.

Well, that night I broke my promise.

Five-0's teasing conversation was loud in my ears as I pushed out of the bar and walked into the warm island night. In fleeing, I was leaving behind my target, my op, and my sterling reputation. My future as an assassin-for-hire would be seriously endangered by such an act of cowardice.

I didn't look back.

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**I've forgotten my disclaimers. I must go edit...**

**But what did you think?**


	23. Pants On Fire

**Hi guys! Sorry about the lull. I got into writing a very long chapter for this and then realized that I may have to put it out there as a stand-alone story. I'll let you know what I decide.**

**In the meantime, I felt really bad for making you wait so long, so here's a quick Danny moment for us all to smile at. I realize that the narrator here may not be quite as original as my others, but the plot bunnies would not give up. **

**Anyhoo, I hope you like! See you soon!**

**Hugs,**

**Knyle B.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own H50. I am only playing for a while.**

* * *

Gracie's daddy is the scariest guy _ever_**.** I mean it.

I never used to be afraid of anybody. _Nobody_. Not even that bank robber I stopped back when I was seven, or the Great White Shark that tried to take a bite out of me when I was surfing with the pros at Diamond Head when I was four. I could beat every person who ever tried to take me on—_except_ Mr. Williams.

I guess I shouldn't have told Gracie about that time I found an army of cyborg mice in the janitor's closet. Or mentioned how often little girls like her got squished like bugs in the traffic in front of the school. Or let it slip that there were a lot of throat-cutting bandits in her neighborhood.

It was just…the words kinda got out whenever we had coloring time together. Gracie had always been so nice, and she would always listen even when the other kids laughed or teased or tattled on me.

I didn't _mean_ to make her worry so much, and I _never_ wanted her to cry. Even though she _does_ do it really easily…unless it's something like scraping her knee or the other girls being mean. Then she's really cool.

But, it's just like my dad says: the world is big, scary place. It's a shame tough guys like us have to deal with it, but I feel even sorrier for all the cute girls who get stuck in it, too.

I decided a long time ago that it was my job to make sure Gracie knew all about the bad things she should look out for. I didn't want her to get into trouble, 'cause if she did, there was maybe a small, teeny-tiny chance that I wouldn't be very good at helping her.

Unless it was a tiger shark, and I had my boogie board. Or a bank robber. I could handle those guys, no problem. I made sure Gracie wouldn't get too worried by telling her that lots of times.

We were at Susie Kemealoa's birthday party together one day. It was fun; most of our class was there, except for Toby McElroy. I let everyone know that he was suffering from chicken pox, which usually kills you, even though Toby's friend Luke was trying to fool us all saying Toby's stomach was upset from drinking milk when he shouldn't have 'cause his stomach doesn't know how to use it.

There was a bounce house and games to play all day. It was great. Susie had chocolate cake—my favorite, except for those little cakes that the Queen of England shared with me when I visited one time—and we all got to go to her play room, too. Some of us made a fort out of blankets and cushions. There were flashlights and we turned off the lamps so we could pretend it was nighttime and tell scary stories.

I sat next to Grace in the circle. It was a special occasion, so I thought I'd come up with something really creepy to tell—I mean, remember.

"So, there was this old butcher who lost his arm in a crazy accident up on the reserve…"

When it was time to go home, I was pretty bummed. For once, everybody listened to my story, and nobody wanted to go home since I wasn't done. Beside me, Gracie sat with her brown eyes wide and unblinking, gasping as I illustrated the angry butcher's attack on some local girls and their poor little white bunnies.

The light flicking on made us all jump.

"Sorry kids, but it's time to go," Susie's mom chirped breezily from the doorway. She was a pretty lady who always wore nice clothes. I'd discovered she was a retired super spy who kept the Crown Jewels of some place very important in her wall safe. "Your parents are all here."

Everybody moaned, but most of the girls cleared out really fast. I wasn't grinning when Gracie got up and tore out into the hallway. I _wasn't_. Honest.

Susie went downstairs with her mom to say goodbye to everybody, and pretty soon the whole playroom was empty. I dawdled a bit, looking at her super cool remote controlled car collection. I wondered if I should look after them for her, since there was a notorious car thief on the loose and she'd probably hate to have them stolen.

Since my mom was downstairs, though, I decided I'd better not make her wait and wistfully left them behind. I wasn't wearing anything with big pockets anyway.

When I got to the top of the staircase, the front hall was a tangle of adults and kids all trying to find shoes and party toys and say goodbye all at once. My mom wasn't there yet. Sighing, I sat on the top step and dropped my chin on my fists.

She was only late all the time because she had to stop and save the library she worked at from book thieves every morning—they were after the valuable index of magic spells that was secretly locked away in the library's boiler room—but sometimes I really wished she would get a new job that didn't make her—maybe—forget to pick me up a lot.

Bored, I watched a familiar brown head bob out of the dining room and enter the hall. The front door opened again, and Mr. Williams let Kai Peters and her dad walk past before he stepped inside. I checked so see if he had his gun on him. Cops were really cool, even if they didn't get to go after skydiving ninjas all the time like I did.

Quick as a shot, Gracie saw her dad, too, and weaved over to him from the door to the rest of the house. Wordlessly, she threw herself forward to hug his waist. She was tall, for a girl, and her dad was a whole lot shorter than a grown-up guy should be, but the top of her pig-tailed head still didn't reach past his chest.

Mr. Williams was smiling—he always smiled when he came to get Gracie—but after a second when Gracie didn't let go or look up at him he got a worried expression on his face and bent to talk to his little girl.

I frowned, watching as he took her hand and led her off into a side room where there were chairs they could sit on. What were they up to?

After a few minutes, everybody had left but me and Gracie, and Susie's family was starting to clean up in the back yard. It was a Saturday, which meant that the book thieves would be extra bothersome, so my mom still wasn't there yet. I sat at the top of the stairs, trying to figure out if pirates went paddle-boarding or sail boating or if they could even surf with peg legs.

"Tommy."

I looked up, surprised to see Mr. Williams standing at the foot of the stairs. Something about the look on his face made me feel a little nervous. "Yeah?"

"Could I talk to you for a minute, bud?" I nodded slowly, and he waved me forward. "All right, come down here. Let's find someplace to sit."

I followed him to the living room with the huge TV. He sat in the big armchair. I sat on the coffee table. Then I saw him frowning at me and hurriedly shifted over to the footstool with the cushion that matched the fabric of his spot.

"What is it, Mr. Williams?" I piped up, picking anxiously at the seam of the stool's cushion.

Whenever I had to talk to grown-ups, it was usually because they thought I was fibbing again. Which I _never_ did. It wasn't very fair of them to keep getting mad at me for it, I reasoned, but none of them seemed to care.

"Tommy, can I tell you something about my job?" Mr. Williams requested seriously. "It's very important, but I can't talk to anyone about it unless they're really good at keeping secrets from the bad guys."

Excited by the prospect and overjoyed that there wasn't another lecture in my future, I nodded eagerly. "Yeah! I'll never tell."

He smiled a little bit. "Of course you won't. Well, Tommy, here's the thing," he started, leaning forward a little to match how much I was bent towards him. "I've got this…animal at work."

My eyes widened. "What kind of animal?"

"A big one," he informed me seriously, providing a helpful example with his hands. "Taller than almost everybody, and even tougher than a whole tank-load of G.I. Joes."

Wow. I listened in rapt attention as he went on.

"He's really fast, and whenever people get him mad, he likes to blow stuff up. He's a special kind of animal, so he can do that, you know."

I nodded studiously. Of course I knew about that.

"We let him be in charge of the bad guys sometimes. He loves to catch them, and when he does, they better 'fess up or he'll do something really scary."

"Like what?" I pressed eagerly, imagining some big monster ripping evil goons to shreds.

"Well, once he hung a guy off a building."

I giggled in awe.

"Another time, he put someone in a shark tank, and he loves to use grenades when people won't give him what he wants. He can climb buildings and jump out of helicopters and drive cars on the sidewalk. I've seen him throw bad guys as big as a moose over his shoulder like it was nothing and take on six or seven people and win. He's gotten shot and stabbed and hit by cars, but they can't stop him."

I was gaping, trying to imagine such a powerful predator. It must be a robot-tiger-shark-gorilla. Or a bear ninja. Was there such a thing as a dragon fighter? How did the cops get such a cool thing on their team? Even I might have a _liiittle_ bit of trouble with something like that.

"Tommy, you still listening?"

I blinked a few times and nodded mutely. Mr. Williams smiled in approval. He was still leaning towards me conspiratorially, and I felt like he was imparting the world's most important government secrets while we sat there.

"That's good, because now I have to tell you what that crazy Neanderthal loves best. Do you want to know what that is?"

Hardly daring to breathe, I bobbed my head up and down at top speed. What was a Nee-and-er-shawl?

"Well, it's just like I told you. He likes to make people stop lying."

I swallowed again as Mr. Williams kept talking. I felt lucky that he showed no signs of noticing the flash of guilt that I felt creep past my wonder.

"If there's one thing he hates most, it's somebody who won't tell the truth to him. He does all sorts of things to make bad guys with secrets be honest," the blond cop imparted solemnly. Looking retrospective, he added, "A lot of them cry."

I shifted a little in my seat, thinking that it was a very good thing that Mr. Williams' animal didn't go to elementary school. Seeking to cover up my fidgeting, I declared firmly, "_I_ wouldn't cry. Crying's for girls."

Mr. Williams raised an eyebrow. "Well, you have nothing to worry about, do you, Tommy? You're not one of the bad guy liars my animal likes to go after, right?"

I looked at my knees, imagining what it must feel like to get dropped off a building or torn apart by sharks or thrown over a moose's shoulder. "Right."

"That's really good to hear," he remarked, smiling. "Because there's only one thing in the world standing between that monster and the whole state of Hawaii."

"_What_?"

I pulled my head up to stare at him again, mind racing. What was so powerful that it could stop the robot-ninja-creature? A nuke? The lizard army hiding in my basement?

"_Me_, Tommy," Mr. Williams replied, pointing a finger at himself and looking me dead in the eyes. "_I_ am the one who keeps the world's most dangerous liar-eater under lock and key."

"No way," I whispered, ogling at him.

"Way." Giving me a stern look, Mr. Williams nodded and pushed himself up to his feet. He tapped the shiny shield attached to his belt. "Now, remember, that's all classified information, hear? No spilling the police's secrets to _anybody_, Tommy."

"I won't," I promised, already bursting at the seams to tell my mom about the new discovery I'd made. Then I remembered that my new tale was about a liar eater, and I thought that maybe I'd better not tell anyone, just like I'd said.

"Good." Mr. Williams turned and walked back out towards the hall. He'd left Gracie in the side room when he came to share his secret with me. "Have a nice day, Tommy."

"You too," I called, almost bouncing up and down on the footrest as I watched him go.

He went into the other room, and I leapt to my feet. Running to the doorway into the hall, I peeked around it and listened to his low voice drift out from the room on the far side.

"Ready to go, monkey?"

"Yeah," Gracie answered quietly.

They walked out of her waiting place hand in hand, and her dad waited for her to slip on her flip flops before holding the door open for her. She smiled at him when he bowed as she passed.

"Milady."

Gracie giggled. I made a face. Did girls actually like that?

As he joined her in walking over the front step, she took his hand again and inquired, "What were you talking to Tommy about?"

"Oh, I was just filling him in on the Super SEAL. It seemed like something he should know."

"Oh." She was nodding as the door swung shut behind them.

I stared hard at the painted wood after them. A seal? A super seal? They ate penguins, I guess. Anything in a tuxedo had to seem a lot like a slimy liar. Obviously once the secret science lab attached all the right robot parts and rocket launchers and gave it a special brain, a seal could become one of the deadliest creatures on the planet.

And Gracie's daddy was so strong and scary that he could control something like that.

I shrank back behind the door frame a little, thinking of all the times that I might have told Gracie something that wasn't completely true or sorta stretched my stories to make them more fun. They hadn't _all_ made her upset, had they? She wouldn't tell her _dad_, would she?

I should probably be more careful around her, I resolved fretfully. I wouldn't want the super seal to get sent over to make me explain how I hadn't fibbed to her. 'Cause I _never_ fibbed, but her dad might think I did on accident, and he was…well, I really didn't want that to happen. The consequences seemed a little too uninviting and, um, frightening.

I snuck another glance out the front window by the door, watching the silver car that held the Williams duo pull away. Gracie's dad was a terrifying super seal wrangler.

That made him so _cool_.

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**Hee. Little boys are so cute. And infuriating. I can remember telling a few boogie-man-style tales of my own to keep them in line over the years.**

**What did you think of this one?**

**Thanks for reading, and see you next time!**

**Knyle B.**


	24. Secret Admirers

******I HAVE (HOPEFULLY) FIXED THE EVIL PARAGRAPH BLOB NOW!******

**Sooo...I was writing the last story of this fic and got to the point where Tommy decided to share something creepy at the birthday party. My thought process: "What's creepy? Stalkers are creepy. Kono should have a stalker. I'll give Grace a rabbit butcher."**

**I'm a very strange individual.**

**Not much humor in this one, if any, but I just realized that I promised some sort of angst in the story description.**

**Hope you like!**

**Hugs,**

**Knyle B.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own H50. If I did, I would be a much richer, happier, and probably stressed human being. And McGarrett would drive a 67 Chevy Impala, not a friggin' Marquis.**

* * *

Officer Kono Kalakaua was born on May 12th, 1984, at Kapiolani Medical Center for Women in room 854.

She grew up at 2813 Keawe Street with her two parents and a dog named Lilo.

On her first birthday, she dumped the whole cake on her head when she accidentally pulled on the table cloth to stand up. I've seen the photos.

She adored surfing from an early age. Her cousin, Chin Ho Kelly, first taught her, and when her father died in an accident he stepped in to watch over her for much of her childhood.

At age 15, she was signed onto a contract with Coral Prince Surfing and became close to the CEO, Ian Adams.

Shortly before that, she enrolled at Kukui High School.

I loved her the first day we met.

It was during orientation; we were in a guided group tour together. I was so nervous about going to High School. I stepped on the back of her shoe on accident and almost fell over apologizing, I was so upset, but she just smiled at me. She had a beautiful smile, even then.

"No worries, brah. We're cool."

Another girl would have snapped at me, or at least ignored me. They all did. But not Kono. No, she was always so kind to me. When we'd see each other in the hallways, she'd smile. That smile was just for me. I worshipped it, went out of my way to see it.

Sometimes, I'd go into the library when I knew she and her friends were there just so I could see her laugh and talk to them. I sat in the back of the bleachers at sporting events that I had no interest in, committing every energetic move she made into memory. Watching her made me feel so calm, so completed. We fit together perfectly, Kono and I.

It hurt when she started dating someone else. Jake Ilo was a jerk. He and the rest of his groupies on the basketball team always teased me, and growing up he had thrown me into trash cans or lockers more than once. How could Kono go for someone like that?

I was so angry.

I kept it together, though. I _showed_ her who was better for her. We got the best grades of any lab partners in biology, and when she put down the wrong answer on quizzes, I would covertly correct them when everybody passed them up to the teacher, since I sat in front of her.

Whenever Jake tricked her into going off with him alone, I made sure to distract him before he could do something horrible to my sweet girl. I got Spanky for that—my pet cat. We worked together to make loud noises nearby or knock things over on top of Jake when I got worried for her. Being on Team Kono was only for the dedicated.

When she blew out her knee surfing, I was there. I offered to help carry her to the trainer, but the lifeguard wouldn't let me get close enough. He didn't realize how close we were. Well, when he left work for the day, he certainly noticed how close his rims were to the asphalt after I'd let the air out of his tires.

Kono was so devastated after she lost her surfing career. My heart broke for her as she struggled to come up with what to do next. I hid chocolate in her locker and left a flower on her backpack to cheer her up. But she got it wrong! She thought _Jake_ had given her those things, and then she kissed him for it, right there in the hallway. And he just grinned and took the credit.

I was so _angry_. So very, very angry with Jake.

So I offered to help him carry his bags one day after practice. He always took showers in the boys' locker room, and everyone knew that the water at school could go from icy cold to burning hot in seconds. While I hauled his luggage, I "borrowed" his shampoo and mixed in a few chemical compounds I knew that night at home. Then I snuck it back into his things the next morning.

Everybody heard about the accident. Jake was just lathering up in the shower when the water got boiling hot. He had burns all over his body, poor guy. He could hardly move with clothes on, he was so uncomfortable, much less kiss his girlfriend on school property. Too bad he didn't know how to mix the canceling agent for the reaction that started when he unknowingly combined my additives with H20. He would have stopped the problem much faster that way than when he had to wait for all the suds to dry up.

But high school couldn't last forever. Soon, graduation rolled around, and I was free of that hellhole forever. My one regret was that I wouldn't have any regular chances to see Kono.

I heard that she was going to go into the Honolulu Police Academy when I was over for dinner. I would sit under the dining room window of her house once a week, listening to her and her mother and her closest cousin talk over a meal. Chin Ho was up against some trouble in the Police Department. He didn't want Kono to get involved, but she was such a strong, loving girl. She stayed loyal and determined. The day she went to register for the academy, I waited in solidarity outside in my car, counting the seconds until she'd reappear in triumph.

My beautiful girl was so amazing. She made it through the academy with flying colors. I relished every test she aced, every field test she knocked out of the park. Golden Girl Kalakaua was a rising star for certain.

There was a new boyfriend, though.

Alex.

I hated him even more than Jake, because he and Kono weren't constrained by being students anymore. He took her out to dinner in places that weren't nearly nice enough and sent her tulips instead of roses, the cheapskate. But his greedy lack of inhibitions was far worse than his poor taste and penny pinching.

Once, when he tried to have her over to his place, I had to cut the power and knock a flower pot over outside in order to save Kono from succumbing to his poison. I always tried to keep tabs on them when they were together, but sometimes I wondered if a few visits weren't slipping through the cracks.

Alex left after the seventh or eighth time I managed to intervene unobtrusively in his selfish quest for Kono. He told her something about the universe being against them. He made her cry, that undeserving creep. I made sure to stay and guard her all night as she ate her favorite ice cream out of a tub and watched a movie on TV. I wanted to be there with her so bad, sitting next to her and sharing her beloved comfort food. I knew I could make her feel better, if she'd just let me try. Instead, I contented myself with the beautiful view through my binoculars and shivered on the rooftop where I had climbed up to do my duty as her best and only true friend.

Why couldn't I be Jake or Alex? What was it about me that kept Kono from seeing how right we were for each other? I just didn't understand it, and it tore me apart inside. Somehow, I'd have to make her see sense.

...Then things went even more horribly wrong. I came back from a week visiting my mother and discovered that somehow she had ended up on a new police task force called Five-0. Five-0? What sort of a name was that? And who in their right minds thought it was appropriate for one lonely flower of a girl to work so closely with three other males, two of them unrelated? At least Chin Ho was there to supervise the other two most of the time, but I knew that cops pulled odd hours and had hectic assignments. Kono was sure to be left alone with that unwanted pair.

I fretted and watched and guarded so much that I got fired from my job for missing work so often, but I couldn't help myself. I had to take care of Kono. I worried for weeks, and then the unthinkable happened.

They sent her undercover. I wasn't too worried, once I arrived and watched the party from afar through my lenses. Kono was a strong, wonderful, talented woman who could surely get the job done better than anyone else, even dressed as some common waitress. I bristled at her revealing red dress, offended that anyone should see the perfection of her skin, but I could manage that if Kono was doing her ever-admirable duty.

What I could _not_ condone were the actions of her blond teammate.

I gasped aloud and almost dropped the binoculars when I saw them out by the pool. How _dare_ he?! How _dare_ Detective Danny Williams prey on his innocent teammate? I saw through his weak pretense of distracting the men interrogating the large Hawaiian. He was _kissing_ her, the lecherous creep! Touching _my_ Kono! The unbelievable bastard!

I saw red. I wanted to strangle him, rip him limb from limb, rain down every curse ever created on his head for getting to what was mine before I had the chance.

At that moment, that very night, I resolved to murder Danny Williams with my bare hands.

But that wasn't enough. Oh, no. Then his contemptible partner had to get involved as well.

Just a few weeks later, he sent Kono undercover again—but on her own. Into a _red light district_! The outrage was too much. I almost charged in to rescue her myself before those scum realized their mistake and sent the police in to help her.

I was so worried that I tore my hair out and hit my head against the wall to try and calm down my racing mind. Only Kono could ever make the buzzing thoughts stop, but she was somewhere in that awful building, trapped, hurt, under attack—

She came out with a little dog in her arms and conferred with her teammates. I was utterly relieved, sinking to the rooftop dazedly. She kissed the little dog's head when Chin Ho and her tall, dark leader—Lieutenant Commander Steven J. McGarrett, Navy Reserves, formerly of the SEALs, formerly of Naval Intelligence—walked away, and I was supremely jealous of the small canine.

And _angry_.

Five-0 had gone too far. It was time to make McGarrett and his despicable partner pay for what they had done to my dear Kono.

I decided on taking care of McGarrett first. He was the most questionable offender, since he had sent Kono into the most dangerous situation and had been overall responsible for her since she joined his team.

However reasonable that was, though, for some reason I held greater hatred for the blond detective who had defiled her. I wanted him to be the last of the two. I wanted to savor enacting my revenge on his worthless, lascivious hide.

It was easy enough to lure my first target in. While Five-0 was investigating in a warehouse district, I followed them and waited until McGarrett had run off on his own, as he always did. He was pursuing a criminal, chasing after him through the maze of alleyways. I watched from the rooftops above as they approached. When they reached the alley that ran beside the roof I waited on, I timed my attack and then shoved on the huge piece of air conditioning equipment that I had detached and balanced on the edge.

It fell at them both. I didn't care whether or not it hit the criminal. He was dirt to me; it was McGarrett I wanted dead. To my disgust, however, the former SEAL saw the growing shadow on the ground beneath him and dove forward, tackling his target and himself out of range of the metal tonnage that crashed down behind them. He was on his feet in and instant, looking up with his gun drawn.

I threw myself back when a bullet chipped off the side of the roof. It was terrifying, being shot at, but I was fighting for a greater cause. Running over to the next cooling unit by the edge, I shoved that off, too. When I peeked over to see if it had hit him, he shot at me again.

That time, I couldn't get out of the way fast enough. A burning line tore across my cheek where the bullet skimmed across my skin. Crying out, I fell back and scrambled towards the door on my knees. I escaped into the interior of the warehouse and ran for home, crying and frustrated. I had failed to kill McGarrett, but at least he hadn't been able to see my face with the sun directly behind me. All he knew of his attacker was the shape of my silhouette.

Still, I couldn't risk waiting any longer or going after him again. If I wanted to get Detective Williams, I had to make my move as soon as possible.

I went to his apartment that night and broke in. He came home so late that it was almost early the next morning, but I was patient. I waited silently in the darkness of his home as I heard the unmistakable purr of his car's engine pull up and cut off. A knife from his own kitchen set was clutched tightly in my gloved hand; a hammer from my personal tool box had been tucked readily in my pocket. I wanted damage, not mercy. It wouldn't be quick for the detective, once I got him secured.

The door opened. I coiled tight as a spring, suddenly deciding to pull out my hammer and raise it high above my head. I was against the wall that the entrance was in, standing behind the door. That way it blocked me from view when Williams entered.

He stepped inside, running a hand through his well-groomed hair as he swung the door shut behind him without looking. Going over to the small table where a picture of a young girl sat, he pulled off his badge and gun and set them down beside her smiling face. Sighing, he stretched and reached to loosen his tie.

I didn't let him get that far. With an inarticulate cry, I leapt forward and brought my hammer down. It did not reach its target. Instead of crushing golden locks and human skull, I felt the jarring impact run up my arm when the head of my weapon collided with the detective's shoulder. Hearing my scream of rage, he had twisted and thrown himself out of the way.

I was infuriated by the miss. Yelling again, I slashed at him with the knife, managing to slice a long gash down his forearm as he leapt back. He was irritatingly fast. Snarling, I followed after him and swung the hammer again, hitting him in the same shoulder. A spasm of pain crossed his face, and he lashed out in retaliation.

My world rocked as his hard fist connected with the side of my face. Vision swirling, I staggered back, trying to regain my sense of balance. He reached to snatch up his gun. Frightened by the prospect of more bullets, I regained my energy. Darting forward, I smashed his outstretched forearm with the hammer, knocking the firearm to the floor in the process when the table was upended. He didn't have a chance to voice his pain from the hammer blow before I swiped at his chest with the knife.

A grim smile came to my lips when the blade at last bit deeply into flesh. The detective let out a curse and jerked back, kicking me in the side of the leg. I felt my knee pop. Suddenly, pain flooded my senses. I screamed and stabbed at him, dropping the hammer in favor of gripping the blade with both hands. He evaded me, but tripped on the edge of the pull-out bed. He fell over the corner of it to the floor on the other side.

Seeing my chance, I dove on top of him, trying to sheath the knife in the hollow between his throat and his sternum. Strong hands grabbed mine, halting their downward momentum. He pushed me back. I let out a strangled noise of fury at how easily overpowered I proved to be, lurching backwards when he shoved. The knife was knocked away. My knee cried out in agony at the motion, but I regained my feet first.

Spotting the little table, I grabbed one of its legs and swung it with both hands as my adversary stood up. The detective gasped when the wood shattered against his arm and side, knocked sideways onto the bed. Dropping the fragments I still held, I grabbed the next piece of furniture I saw—the shelf by the door, and grabbed it. Grunting with strain as I pulled it off the floor and turned, I brought it up to shoulder level to better use as a weapon.

The first thing I saw when I faced back towards the detective was the empty bed. Then a fist came flying at my face, and I felt a blindingly fast double-impact. The world spun. My head exploded in fireworks. I felt the shelf slip from my fingers as I took an unsteady step back. Knowing that his two punches had almost rendered me senseless, Williams advanced. The detective reached forward and knocked my hands aside when I raised them in weak defense. His fist closed around my shirt collar at my throat. I couldn't pull away; my head hurt too much to make my body respond.

When the blond man stepped closer, I stumbled back. Glass crunched underfoot. I stared in apprehension as he glanced down at what I'd stepped on. His already shadowed face darkened.

"You broke my picture of Grace."

My vision and everything in it was suddenly blocked by a fist flying straight at my nose.

When I awoke, I was lying down on my back. Something stiff immobilized my neck. The night air was cool against my feverish skin, and my mind whizzed frenetically, trying to make sense of what was going on as it resumed its usual breakneck, maddening pace. There was a deep, heavy pounding in there as well, and my face felt battered and sore. I moaned, trying to clutch my head in agony.

Two cold metal barriers stopped my wrists from rising. Glancing down, I was dismayed to find them handcuffed to the rails of the stretcher I was on top of. I recognized the parking lot of Detective Williams' apartment and remembered what had happened. My heart thudded faster.

No. I couldn't be caught. I wasn't done. I still had to protect Kono.

As I glanced around in desperation, my eyes lit on first one ambulance near me and then another parked nearby, closer to the flashing lights of the police cars. Detective Williams sat on the rear bumper, covered in blood from the slanting gash on his chest, the cut on his arm, and a growing spot on his slumped shoulder.

He wasn't _dead_ yet.

Howling in mindless rage, I started to pull at my bonds, sitting up and kicking at the medical personnel who rushed over to stop me.

Kill him. I had to kill him. I was going to rip him apart.

Many arms grabbed my legs and shoulders, pressing me back down onto the stretcher.

"Sedate him, now!" someone authoritative barked. "Or I swear I will tase him right there on the goddamn stretcher!"

I snarled and bit, still thrashing, but then something cold bit into my thigh. Things started to go fuzzy. I lost all the strength in my limbs. My guttural growling muted to a moan, I fell back as though boneless. Those assembled to hold me relaxed and stood down. There was a moment of quiet as unintelligible murmurs were tossed around over me.

Then a huge blue truck roared into the parking lot and skidded to a stop outside the ring of police cars. It was followed by a rumbling motorcycle and little red car—Kono's red car, I realized with a spark joy. She was there; she must have heard about what happened to me and been worried sick. My Kono had come to me. Almost as one, the three late-arriving members of Five-0 leapt off or out of their vehicles and jogged into the ring of flashing lights and public servants.

I watched my Golden Girl expectantly, blissfully happy that she'd finally realized how much I meant to her. Soon she would be there, holding my hand and crooning her gratitude. It would all be worth it, then.

I was dumbfounded as instead all three newcomers ran straight to Detective Williams' ambulance. Had Kono not seen mine? Was she confused? Over the wordless noise of other voices, hers rang out clear and sweet to me from amidst McGarrett and Kelly's curt demands for information.

"Oh my God, Danny, are you okay?"

_What_? Danny? She cared about _Danny_? But what about _me_?

_I_ was the one who had done so much for her. I had cheered for her. Been proud of her. Adopted that little dog she kissed, even though I had to snap Spanky's neck when he hissed at it.

_I_ was the one who loved her. I had watched her and kept her safe. I had been there for her through thick and thin. And she was staying with Five-0 instead of coming to me.

When she looked over in my direction, the look on her face wasn't concern. It was animosity. Repugnance.

Rejection.

Deep inside of me, something snapped. Consumed by animal pain and anger, I screamed at the top of my lungs and began to fight again. My motions were violent, my desire for blood even more so. I was nothing but a snarling, raving knot of rage and murderous intent. I didn't even register the shouting that time, or the hands that tried to hold me down. My fury was stronger than them all. I would break free. I would get them, kill them, _all_ of them. Tear them to pieces, bathe in their blood—

When the coldness bit my thigh that time, the effects were not nearly so gentle. The sluggishness was instant, the blackness overwhelming.

The last thing I saw was Kono's perfect face, colored by repellence and hostility and the calm, focused mask of a cop facing her enemy.

I fell almost weakly into the darkness then, all the fight gone out of me. What was the point?

I had lost my Golden Girl. There was no light left.

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**Any thoughts? I've forgotten to name yet another Narrator, but whatever. Fill in the blank, I guess.**

**FYI, I'm working on a longer story that is essentially a chapter of this fic that went wild. If I ever get it done, I'll probably post it as an individual piece and let you know. Me telling you about it is more just to keep me feeling accountable for finishing it than getting your hopes up. :)**

**Anyhoo, Take Care, all. See you next time.**


	25. Digging for (Not) Gold

**Hi again! I'd just like to thank everybody for their continued enthusiasm with this fic. This chapter isn't quite as intense as the last one, but I've been gardening a lot. ...That will make sense once you read it. ^^;**

**I'll be out of town for the weekend, but I should be able to write, just not post. We'll see. **

**As always, I'd love to hear what you think.**

**Enjoy!**

**Knyle B.**

****Does anyone know why the document manager keeps mushing everything into one paragraph? It's done it to me twice now... I hate formatting. T-T**

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**Disclaimer: I do not own H50. If I did, every episode would have a cargument. :)**

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There's really nothing like being a botany major on a chain of tropical islands. My trip to the Molokai rainforest was amazing, and my whole class was having a blast as we spent our two weeks of field-time hiking, studying, sampling, and discovering.

Most things were done from a home base in civilization, but there were a few camping studies planned. Partway through the first week, we came in from a two-night stay in the nature reserve and cleaned up in the hotel. Professor Lekeo was going to meet with us after lunch to go over notes and show us information on the places we'd go the next day.

I was just getting out of the shower when Hunter, the guy I was sharing a room with, burst in. "Luke, get dressed. You gotta see this."

He dashed out again as soon as he'd said it. Wondering what he was so jazzed about, I pulled on some shorts and a t-shirt and followed him out onto the second-story walkway in front of our room. Hunter was already on the ground, jogging out towards the parking lot. Taking the stairs two at a time, I slip-stumbled onto the pavement after him, managing to stay on my feet by pure luck. I wasn't the most coordinated guy around.

When I finally came around the corner to the parking lot, I knew exactly what had got him excited. The cabins that our hotel also ran were across the street. There were several police vehicles parked in front of them, along with a trailer holding one of those bobcats with a crane digger on the front.

That would have been exciting in itself, I guess, but there was something even bigger to get Hunter's attention. A normal looking car was parked in the middle of the black-and-whites. Two guys stood in front of it, one tall and dark-haired, the other shorter and blond.

It was Commander Steve McGarrett and Detective Danny Williams, the lead team of Five-0.

Being a longtime resident of Honolulu, I recognized them easily. I'd seen them careening through the city after suspects often enough that I instinctively wanted to duck and cover at the sight of them.

My classmates recognized the pair as well. A huddle of kids was clustered in the corner of the parking lot closest to the road, busy watching and taking photos of the infamous lawmen. I smiled and shook my head at their fangirling.

"Luke! Over here!"

Turning, I saw Hunter grinning at me from a cluster of hibiscus bushes.

_Here comes trouble_. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I went over to him cautiously, expecting that he was about to do something foolish.

"Come on," he grinned, still excited. "Let's get closer."

Before I could say anything, he'd turned and disappeared into the hotel's lush garden. Sighing, I took one last glance around to make sure we weren't seen and went in after him, wishing I wasn't such a pushover.

"Hunt, stop! This is a bad idea!" I called, but he just laughed and sped up. Knowing I had no hope of persuading him to call it quits, I moved a little quicker. He broke into a run. I unhappily copied, working hard to keep my ungainly six-seven frame upright and muttering, "Jerk."

Hunter was more of a jock than a scientist, but his parents wanted him to get a real career. He came to Molokai for the sake of the trip more than our class together. Whereas I was completely taken with my field of study and on fire to hike through the jungle after rare flowers, he spent most of his time flirting with the girls on the trip and playing with the jungle vines.

As different as we were, we got along well enough. That's why we were rooming together. We actually spent a lot of time together due to mutual friends, so I knew how inclined he was to get into trouble—and then drag me into it.

We came out on the edge of the hotel's property and crossed the road, hidden from our classmates and the police by a bend in the road. Hunter led the charge up the embankment on the other side, snaking his way back to where the cabins were through the woods at the top. I scrambled to keep up, dodging the plants that he walked straight through and feeling sorry for the poor, trampled foliage. As far as the outdoors was concerned, Hunter was the typical American traveler: a bull in a very underappreciated china shop. I would have yelled at him, but we were so close to the cabins that the sound of a police radio drifted to my ears. Rather than risk getting caught, I held my tongue and got closer to him.

Drawing alongside as he was about to step onto the lawn of one of the units, I grabbed his arm and jerked him back behind a large bush, hissing, "That's far enough! You're gonna get us caught. You want to be arrested?"

He just smiled crookedly: the careless expression that made most girls agree to anything. I knew he was trying to win me over, and it was a little too close to working. Sometimes I really hated being friends with a guy that could make me feel guilty for using common sense. Resolving to stay strong, I frowned at him.

"If the police are here, that means they are _investigating_. Whatever it is, we are not allowed to interfere with their work. We are staying here."

He sighed and looked sad. Telling myself that I had _not_ kicked his puppy, I crossed my arms and told myself not to give in. Hunter looked away, staring wistfully at the glimpse of squad car and milling policemen that we could see between the cabins. He stood on his tiptoes, trying to get a better view.

"Oh, all right," I grumbled, letting my hands drop to my sides in defeat. I couldn't take it when he started acting like an adorable four year old. "We can get closer. But only in the forest, Hunter, and they'd better not see us snooping."

Grinning broadly, he was off like a shot into the underbrush. Following him quietly as he circled the cabins, I saw him startle and hide behind a huge Koa trunk. Taking his cue, I ducked behind another tree—just in time. Two police officers walked out from between the cabins up ahead, talking to one another as they poked through the lawns and gardens of the cabins.

"The dogs couldn't find anything?"

"No. Kohler said they were here for hours yesterday trying to pick up a scent."

"McGarrett's sure this is the right place?" The speaker looked around at the hotel's setup skeptically. "Doesn't seem much like a serial killer's burial ground to me."

His partner shrugged and nodded. "Me, either, but it's Five-0. They're right about this stuff more than they're wrong. Duke said they found one of the body stashes already."

They kept going, turning out of sight. Their conversation became unintelligible, so I looked over at Hunter. He was peering around his hiding spot, eyes shining.

_Uh-oh. They said serial killer._

The thought of being on a career murderer's turf was too exciting for my buddy to ignore. He was almost bouncing up and down as I left my tree and came over. I groaned inwardly. Hunter and his stupid obsession with police dramas. Given half a chance, he'd probably go tearing into the cabin area like a kid in a candy store.

"This is not one of your TV shows," I whispered chidingly as I stopped beside him. "We are not going to get involved."

He turned to me, pleading, "Aw, _c'mon_, Luke. Live a little. You heard what he said. This might be the dump site for a serial killer!"

Unsure how he could find that to be an attractive trait, I shook my head and stood my ground. "We're college students, Hunt, not detectives. We need to get out of here and let the cops do their job."

Frowning like I'd just told him he couldn't ride his bike without a helmet, he shook his head mutinously and suddenly stepped out onto the grass. "Fine. You go. I'm gonna watch Five-0 find some dead bodies."

With that, he turned and jogged around the corner of the nearest cabin, not looking back.

"No, wait, come back!" I hissed after him, eliciting only a smirk and a wave as he turned around the side of the building. "Hunt! Hunter!"

He was gone. Cursing under my breath with words that I'd only ever heard spoken on the mornings after too-wild parties, I hurried onto the lawn after him. If he got himself into a jam, I would feel at least partially responsible. My bleeding heart was a regular pain in the ass.

Running quickly to the side of the cabin, I hugged the wall and peeked around the corner. To my dismay, Hunter was crouching behind an air conditioning unit, staring at Commander McGarrett and Detective Williams. They were standing in front of the porch of the cabin that the AC belonged to, conferring with some uniformed policemen.

Silently, I willed Hunter to just stay where he was and be satisfied, but he wasn't that kind of guy. After craning his neck for a few seconds, he decided to creep along the edge of the porch. That left him hidden from Five-0 and the guys they were talking to, but only by the raised platform itself on one side. He was visible to myself and the rest of the world on the other.

My sneaking friend must have made too much noise. Looking up sharply, McGarrett sprang around the decking and hauled him up by the shirt collar in about two seconds flat. Hunter threw his hands up and started stammering excuses as the SEAL's partner and the other cops rounded the porch to see who their coworker had caught. None of them looked happy.

Well, Great. Another Hunter-created disaster. Sinking against the wall of the cabin, I put my head in my hands and wondered why I had ever become friends with such a nitwit. He was sure to get in trouble no matter where we went. Even on a class trip that he knew I had been waiting for all year, he still couldn't restrain himself.

I ran out of inner curses and sighed resignedly. If Hunter wasn't arrested, the professor would have to send him home, and I'd feel horrible for the rest of the month for not protecting the idiot from himself. There was no way I was gonna live with the odd sense of survivor's guilt that was already setting in on me.

Lifting my head up, I listened to the policemen berate my friend for a few seconds more, but it quickly became too much. Turning, I left the safety of the shadows and jogged over to McGarrett, who had handcuffed Hunter and was guiding him towards the road.

"Wait, wait, please don't arrest him!" I called.

Williams had turned as soon as he caught a glimpse of me rounding the corner, his hand dropping to rest readily on the gun at his hip. Hearing me, his partner and the other policemen turned as well, halting.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm, ah, Luke Clarke. I'm here on a class trip," I stammered as I stopped a few feet away, holding my hands up non-threateningly. With one of them, I pointed at Hunter. "Him, too."

The blond cop did not look pleased by my elucidation. "What are you two doing on a crime scene, then?"

"He's an adrenaline junkie. He saw you guys and came over here before I could stop him," I rushed out contritely. Pausing to send a quick glare in Hunter's direction, I added, "Aside from exhibiting general idiocy, we haven't done anything. I swear."

That got Williams to relax his grip on his gun, at least. Having spotted the group of our classmates across the road, he nodded his head in their direction and asked me, "You guys from over there?" I nodded. "All right. If they can vouch for you being there in the last five minutes, I _may_ consider not arresting you for interfering with an ongoing criminal investigation. You see cops trying to do their job, you go the other way, got it?"

Hunter nodded enthusiastically, spouting reassurances, but I was only half listening. Something behind McGarrett had caught my attention.

The six cabins were arranged in a half circle facing the road. Before the new highway was built down the middle of the hotel property, there had only been a driveway coming from the hotel parking lot to the outbuildings. The road had led to a lot of trees being cleared away so there were sight lines to the hotel from the cabins, but otherwise the layout was the same. The driveway was still there, though bisected by the new thoroughfare. It had ended in a circle drive in front of the cabins. In the middle was a raised median.

It was the garden on top of the center circle that had caught my attention. Furrowing my brow at the sight of the plants there, I suddenly blurted, "Could what you're looking for be made out of metal?"

"What?" Cutting off midsentence, Williams abandoned his lecture in favor of staring at me like I was demented.

Officially blushing, I ducked my head a little. "The hydrangeas on the center mound are blue."

Everybody turned, looking, and then the detective faced me again with a frown. "Yes, I can see that. What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Um." Suddenly aware that everyone was staring at me like I'd lost it—including Hunter—I shoved my hands in my pockets nervously. "Hydrangeas change colors depending on what's in the soil," I explained, shying away from the twin looks of 'not-happy-with-your-shit' I was getting from Williams and McGarrett. "When there's a low pH level and aluminum present, they're blue. When there's not, they're pink like all the ones in the pots in front of the cabins."

When they turned to look at that, I got distracted again and stared at the ground-growing plants on the median, musing, "Here in Hawaii the soil naturally causes them to be blue, actually, but this hotel is really big on its gardens and keeps them pink, which has _got_ to be a pain for the gardeners."

Looking confused as well as ticked at that, McGarrett finally spoke up. "So? They must have just given up over here, then."

I shook my head. "There's a bag of phosphorous-heavy fertilizer sitting right next to them—which is what you use to make the soil more acidic so they'll change colors. I can see from here that the ground's been freshly tilled with it. The groundskeepers are still trying to make them pink, but the chemicals are being overpowered by something else."

The faintest glimmer of credulity was starting to show on the cops' faces.

Encouraged, I went on, "Sometimes decomposing organic matter will do it, but since your dogs aren't able to smell anything, it could be a lot of aluminum." I stopped and frowned in distaste at the next thought that occurred to me. "Does your guy bury people in aluminum coffins?"

Not replying, Detective Williams turned to share a look with his partner. "What was the roof of that bunker made of?"

"Aluminum," McGarrett remembered.

As he said it, he was already turning and hauling Hunter over to the nearest squad car. Guiding my friend less-than-gently to sit down on the bumper, the commander let him go and jogged across the driveway, waving at some police officers that were congregated in front of the trailer with the bobcat.

"Hey, bring that over here! I want these hydrangeas dug up!"

While I was watching him, Williams came over and took me by the arm, pulling me along to join Hunter. As we walked, he demanded irritably, "Just how much spying did you do before you came out here and played 'innocent bystander,' huh?"

I smiled weakly, hoping he wasn't really as angry as he always seemed to sound. "Two cops walked by talking about a serial killer while I was trying to convince Hunter to go back to the hotel. We had to wait for them to go away again. It was hard not to hear."

Williams rolled his eyes as he sat me down next to my roommate. "I really should arrest you."

Hunter and I both froze, but thankfully there wasn't any conviction in his voice. The cops he and his partner had been talking to came over, and he pointed at us. "Watch the nerd child and his pet goof, please. I have my own miscreant to look after."

Refocusing on Hunter and I with a glare that was routinely used to discourage the state's most fearless ex-Navy crime fighter, he warned, "I see either of you move from this spot and I will shoot you, you hear?"

We both nodded mutely. Satisfied, he turned and went to McGarrett, who was standing on the median, and told him, "Calm down, Rambo. Let 'em work."

"I am calm," McGarrett muttered back defensively.

I laughed. The SEAL practically radiated tension and impatience. His arms crossed tightly over his chest while he watched the bobcat trundle over so it could start digging. He looked like he was on the verge of running down the hill and getting in the driver's seat himself to speed up the process.

Realizing that there was some serious damage about to be done on my advice, I stopped chuckling. Hopefully the hotel wouldn't kick me out for having one of its gardens trashed. I turned to the closest uniform in apprehension.

"The police will pay for fixing all that, right?"

The officer I'd addressed looked mildly annoyed. "The state foots the bill for pretty much all the property that Five-0 manages to destroy," he informed me. With a derisive huff, he looked over the wreckage on the median. "Compared to what McGarrett got up to on Monday, this will be pocket change, kid."

Appeased, I thanked him and turned to Hunter. The guy had the nerve to sit there and stare at me like I was from another planet.

"What?" I snapped.

Having taken about as much of his backwards logic that I could stomach, I really hoped that he had a good reason for the appalled look on his face. He shook his head disbelievingly.

"Dude. Flowers? You meet the guys from _Five-0_ and you decide to talk about _flowers_?"

"I was talking about finding what they were _looking_ for, Hunter," I shot back. "So what if it involved flowers? We're botany majors. Anyways, _you_ were the one who decided that watching a serial killer's stash of dead bodies get dug up was worth being arrested for, remember? I'm _so_ sorry that I came here and embarrassed you instead of going back to the room without your stupid ass."

"Er." He had the grace too look sheepish, fidgeting a little with his bound hands. "I guess this is kinda my fault. I should have listened to you." I

had about two short seconds to enjoy that rare admittance before the repentance on his face was replaced by annoyance.

"How come _you_ didn't get handcuffed?"

"Because I'm the smart one," I retorted.

My mood salvaged by his brief apology, I smirked at him, turning to watch the crew digging up on the hill. Hunter turned as well, and we sat in silence for a few more minutes while the police worked their way down through the dirt.

The hydrangeas were no more. I winced sympathetically at the sight of them in the mangled mess of a dirt pile that the garden had become. My inner plant lover was feeling guilty. My mother, a florist, probably would have cried a little.

As soon as an ear-splitting screech of metal on metal hit the air, though, I knew it was worth it. Hunter and I both leapt to our feet as McGarrett and a couple of officers ran to the edge of the hole, peering in. The rest of the police erupted into chatter.

"It's another bunker."

"Get that crane moving again!"

"Joe, you and your men gear up and get ready to look in there."

Amid the shouting, Detective Williams turned around and frowned to see us on our feet. Jumping guiltily, we sat back down on the bumper immediately. The two cops who were supposed to be keeping an eye on us turned back from watching the melee on the hill with equally abashed expressions. The blond man hadn't spared them from his disapproving stare.

After a minute, there was a big enough hole cleared. The bobcat was pulled back. Somebody let out a yell, having spotted the entrance. It only took a moment and a crowbar to get the trapdoor out of the way. Uniformed bodies disappeared into the earth once it was opened.

Soon there was an even bigger flurry of activity to handle the graveyard that was apparently hidden beneath the earth.

Unable to see any of what was going on inside the hole or bunker, Hunter and I just had to surmise what was going on from the conversations and radio calls and other activities of the lawmen all around. Once it was apparent that my hunch had been correct, I sat in shock.

_Holy shit. I just helped find a serial killer's meat locker._

When he climbed out of the ground, McGarrett looked over at us before he went to talk to his partner. He smiled at me and gave me a thumb's up sign. I gaped.

Beside me, Hunter bumped his shoulder into mine and whispered, "Man, you are the coolest nerd child I've ever made friends with."

Laughing at the backhanded compliment, I shoved him back. My eyes were soon drawn back to the cops on the hill, though. I watched them thoughtfully, realizing that the brief half hour I'd spent around Five-0 had led to one of the most rewarding moments of my life.

Whoever the serial killer was, I'd helped to take away his prizes and get his poor victims' remains back to their families. The police, McGarrett, Williams, and their team got to improve people's lives like that every day. Would I ever make such an impact as a botanist?

I mulled that over for a while, brooding.

Nudging Hunter a few minutes later, I inquired haltingly, "Have you ever…thought about switching majors? …To forensic science?"

Whirling to face me, he grinned and nodded eagerly. "Dude. Let's do it."

So we did.

The next time I saw McGarrett and Williams up close, I was a year into my classes for a forensic science degree. Somehow, the haole half of Five-0 had got wrangled into helping at a lecture on the _Due Process of Law_ and _Proper_ _Criminal Procedure_.

I don't think I stopped laughing until I fell asleep that night. I'd lived on Oahu the whole time they were racing in car chases, getting into shootouts, blowing stuff up, and generally ignoring law and order. Watching the two of them try to cover a topic like that… It was priceless.

In the end, it just dissolved into a question-and-answer session where the students tried to figure out what stories about Five-0 were true and which ones were too insane for reality. McGarrett was goaded into some live demonstrations to prove that he was capable of his more famous stunts, much to his partner's chagrin. And then there was the arguing… Honestly, I laughed so hard, I thought I'd died.

Forensic science wasn't my first major, but as long as those two were there when I graduated and went to work for the state, it was going to land me with one hell of a job.

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**And there you have it. I must go to pack now...**


	26. Blitz, part 1

**Oh, gosh. This story has over 10,000 views. *flustered* Thank you all so much!**

**This next one is thanks to a review, actually. I was responding and suddenly stumbled across a baby plot bunny. **

**I wanted to pay Chin some attention, since the tally system that I started at the beginning of this has been woefully neglected since about chapter 3. Then I wound up giving him over 5,000 words of attention, so this will be another multi-parter. **

**Now, back to writing, writing, writing. **

**Oh. I should probably post this chapter first. *eheh***

**Enjoy!**

**Knyle B.**

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**Disclaimer: H50 belongs to someone else. I'm just pining after something I can never have...**

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I was making my regular morning rounds in the neighborhood that Tuesday. It was easy going; no houses with mean dogs, no fences to keep me from walking straight to each address across the yards.

It was funny when you were a mail man. Somehow the blue uniform and huge bag made you excepted from the ire of the lawn fanatics and personal property avengers.

Well, usually.

For that community, at least, I'd never gotten any trouble. The one I'd transferred from, on the other hand…it was high time they let someone younger handle that neck of the woods. I could only sprint away from danger so many times in a week before my aches and pains got the better of me. I wasn't on the sunny side of fifty anymore.

As I walked down the driveway of one house to avoid tramping through a flowerbed, I noticed a procession of cars turn onto the street. Frowning, I kept my eyes on them as I walked. I saw no funeral flags, but the motley vehicles were definitely in formation.

They came closer, and I saw the government plates on the lead. Well, that was strange. Government cars didn't normally go on parade on anonymous Tuesdays. Was it a protection detail of some sort? On a residential street?

I mused over the mystery as I walked up to the next house and slipped their parcels into the mail slot. Pausing on the stoop, I turned and regarded the vehicles as they came almost even with me. It was a long, straight street, so I could see them coming for a while. Why were there so many different shapes and sizes in the mix? I had thought the suits in power usually preferred a tight assortment of black-and-gleaming for their transport.

They were just passing by. Not really concerned about being nosy, I strained to see through the tinted windows for a glimpse of the drivers or occupants. What I saw made my frown deepen.

The scruffy, fidgety man behind the first wheel seemed very incongruous with the huge black suburban he drove. The man in the white park services truck behind him didn't fit any better, and he looked a little torn up—_is that blood?_

I was reaching for my cell phone to call it in when all hell broke loose.

Screeching out of a side street, a gleaming silver Chevy swung out in front of the line of suspicious cars. It sped right at the lead suburban, blue lights flashing, while a smaller red car came out from a different street to harass the line's flank. A motorcycle rumbled around the corner behind it all, following the same route as the six vehicles currently under attack.

Tires squealed. Doors slammed open. Abruptly, there was a lot of gunfire filling the air.

Deciding it best to postpone my rounds until a quiet interlude, I dove behind the front bushes of the house I stood next to. Knowing that shrubbery would do little to impede the flight of a bullet, I crawled on my hands and knees around to the side yard. There was a low brick wall that I jumped over to get into the back.

Two little girls were sitting patiently by the edge of the pool, waiting for an adult to come out so they could get into the water. Upon my arrival, they looked up in surprise.

"Get inside, quick!" I commanded them, immediately in parent mode. "Go to the back of the house and stay low!"

Wide-eyed, the small and slightly smaller—probably sisters—duo ran for it. Their mom was just opening the door, a snack tray in her hand, when they rushed up the steps. She looked to me, opening her mouth to ask, but I pointed towards the road. The gunshots finally registered, and she gasped, fleeing back indoors with her babies.

A metal courier of death chipped off the light post by my shoulder. Startled, I dropped down below the wall I'd just cleared, hoping that the family had a bath tub or something sturdy to take cover in. My bag I took off and leaned against the wall, hoping the brick would protect its precious cargo. I would have loved to join the girls and their mother inside, but the open distance between myself and the door seemed very, very large. And bullet riddled. Covering my head, I waited for the melee to subside, hearing shouts, rending metal, and breaking glass.

Then, very suddenly, there was an explosion.

Shoved harder into the ground by the percussive blast, I yelled and rode out the shockwave, hearing debris hit the wall and splash into the pool. Something large thudded into the grass on the other side of the wall. I popped my head up to see what it was before I thought better of it.

The charred remnants of a vehicle were scattered across the street and front lawns all around. There was a noticeable gap in the line of six—reduced to five—cars, and the firefight had been halted by what I deduced was a truck exploding.

Puzzled, I shook my head, trying to make my ears stop ringing. Cars did not just hit something or get shot and then blow up. They had to be filled with explosives or incendiary materials in order to catch on fire and go "BOOM." I'd seen it on MythBusters.

Having a science nerd for a daughter had somewhat dampened my ability to ignore the laws of physics. All those educational shows and factual conversations took their toll on my naiveté over the years.

Dynamite still made good movies, though, as far as I was concerned. Hollywood seemed convinced that a fender-bender would result in a fiery ball of wreckage, and as long as it stayed entertaining, I wasn't going to complain.

A small groan redirected my attention to the ground. There was a man lying on the grass in front of my shelter. He was blackened, burned, and bleeding. Swallowing convulsively, I saw him struggle for breath and go limp, his eyes closing.

"Shit."

Vaulting over the wall, I knelt beside him and felt for a pulse in his neck, bending low over his mouth to check for breathing. There was nothing. His chest wasn't moving, either, and when I looked down and saw the carnage that had become of it, I could see why. I didn't know the human body could be a receptacle for that much metal.

Blinking rapidly, I turned away. I was trying very hard not to vomit. Outside the rushing in my ears, however, I thought I heard a soft, metallic click. Pivoting back around to check if the man had moved, I saw that his hand had slipped off his chest to lie on its back in the grass.

There was a grenade lying in his open palm.

The pin was missing.

Before I knew it, I'd snatched it up, clamping my fingers around the still-in-place handle. There was no painful oblivion in the next three seconds, which was nice. I had no idea what to do after that, though, so I just stayed where I was, kneeling over a dead man with a military-grade, armed explosive in my hand.

It was not exactly a moment for solitude.

Thinking to get help, I looked up, seeing that the men from the parade of cars had been sent sprawling in from the blast. They were being roped up by a businesslike young Hawaiian woman and brought over to the side of her red car.

Meanwhile, the last two drivers on their feet had decided to run for it. They headed off in the opposite direction with the men from the silver Chevy hot on their heels. The tall, dark one was fast. It looked like was almost close enough to grab hold of one runner by the time they turned a corner. If he'd been at a tryout, I'd have signed him right there as a running back.

On the other side of the traffic jam from that action, the man from the motorcycle appeared. He strode out from behind the rear of the last truck, leading a posse of disgruntled looking, handcuffed people in front of him. Pointing them towards the red car, he made them sit down against it the way the woman had instructed her own prisoners to do.

Then he looked up. Our eyes met across the lawns and road between us.

Whatever expression I gave it, it definitely conveyed the urgency of my situation. He frowned. Saying something over his shoulder to his teammate, the dark-haired, sinewy Asian jogged towards me, pump-action rifle at the ready. Seeing the body lying inert in front of me, he slowed, his dark eyes on the threat.

"He's dead," I croaked, having little success making my lips work past the shock. Holding up the grenade a little so he would refocus on it, I cleared my throat and added, "He dropped this."

Seeing the pin missing and the way my hand quivered slightly, he became deadly serious. Turning, he held a finger to his ear and spoke to his female cohort, "Kono! I've got a live grenade over here. Alert HPD."

I could see her nod back by the car, gathering that they were using discrete communications devices rather than shout their business in front of volatile criminals. That was very smart. I could appreciate that. They were obviously very professional people.

_Could one of them please get this goddamn bomb away from me now?_

Crouching down in front of me across the dead guy, the armed and vested newcomer met my panicked eyes with calm, level ones of his own. He pointed to the badge on his belt. "Sir, I'm Officer Chin Ho Kelly from the Governor's special task force. I need you to stay very still until some help arrives, okay?"

"Sure." I started to nod but stopped myself, giving him a pained smile. "Not moving. Right."

As he smiled back encouragingly, a flash of movement caught my eye. Turning my head just a fraction, I felt my stomach drop a good six feet under the sod. The rest of me was about to catch up to it very quickly if I didn't do something.

"Ah, Chin Ho? I don't think you got them all."

Frowning, he turned and followed the direction of my gaze with his own. I could tell he caught sight of my discovery by the way he stiffened. There were three men behind the bushes next door. We both went rigid when the reflections from their gun barrels became visible.

"Come on!" Holding tightly onto the grenade, I sprang lightly to my feet and jumped the wall no-handed, landing as softly as I could on the other side.

Proving to be a very good listener as well as a perceptive observer, Chin Ho was right behind me as bullets once again ripped through the air all around. The police officer looked over at me from where he knelt on my right, raising an eyebrow and inexplicably managing to look serene even as chips of brick and hot lead flew at us.

"So much for not moving."

"Well, it didn't blow up," I pointed out optimistically, wincing when a large piece of brick bounced off my head. My arms didn't move a fraction, though.

Ushering me back to sit in the corner of the wall, Officer Kelly looked keenly at the grenade clasped tightly in both my hands and then at our surroundings. "Bomb Squad can't get to us here. Can you keep holding it?"

"Um, that may be a problem," I muttered glumly. In answer to his searching look, I explained, "I've been a mail man for twenty years, but before that I played a little too much football. Took a hit to my shoulder that weakened my grip in one hand, and the other's got bad CTS."

"Carpal Tunnel Syndrome." He was still calm, but I could tell he didn't like the news.

I felt my brow furrow in agitation and partial embarrassment. "Yeah. I don't know how long my fingers will hold out. Age is a bitch, sorry."

He shook his head reassuringly before popping up to fire off two rounds very suddenly. I steeled myself not to flinch, giving him a peeved look when he crouched back down.

"Thanks for the warning."

"I have to keep them off my partner," he informed me apologetically. "She's got to watch all the ones we've already caught and can't risk returning fire."

"S'all good," I mumbled, my eyes dropping unerringly to the huge spot of trouble in my hands. "We should probably get rid of this so you can go help her, then."

He raised an eyebrow, dodging a flying chunk of cement and hunkering closer to the wall. Raising his voice to be heard over the latest volley of bullets, he half-shouted, "You got any ideas?"

"Yeah," I called back, watching him turn and fire a few more times. When he was back down in cover, I looked down at my shorts. "Phone's clipped to my belt. I need you to go to the contacts and call Evelyn."

"Sir, I know you're in danger, but this isn't the right time to call your loved ones," he said diplomatically.

I shook my head. "I know. But it's a very good time to call someone who can help get me _out_ of danger." A bullet somehow hit the ground next to my outstretched leg. I tucked it in quickly, growling, "The phone. Now, please."

With only a hint of tightness around his lips and eyes to show how nonplussed he was, the policeman did as I asked, putting the call on speaker and setting it on the ground by my knee so he could straighten up and keep shooting as needed.

She picked up after the second ring, sounding rushed. "Dad?"

"Hey, Evie," I heard myself say casually. "Got a pop quiz for you, sweetheart."

She sighed regretfully. "Not to be brat, but can I get back to you? Your reception is making it sound like someone's setting off fireworks." After a brief pause for a yawn, she added sheepishly, "…Plus, class starts in ten minutes and I'm still only halfway to campus. Without coffee."

That was indeed a tragedy, for a college student. Mindful of my daughter's penchant for ignoring alarms and sleeping late, I smiled. Jittery and on-edge as I was, I always had time to grin over my little girl's antics. "Three minute interview, kiddo, I promise," I told her smoothly, doing my utmost to keep the anxiety out of my voice. I didn't want to upset her. "I've got some trouble on a route. I need a good brain to borrow."

"Oh, all right." I could hear the fond smile through her voice. "You've got a hundred and seventy-eight seconds."

I almost laughed, but the hysteria would make for a strange explanation, so I quelled it. The fact that she assumed the gunfire was poor reception was just too lucky to push.

"Good girl. All right, now, science question: if I drop one of those M67 grenades you used to ask Santa for into a…"

I looked up, scanning my first option.

"Twenty-by-thirty, six-foot-deep, in-ground pool, will that dampen the blast enough to avoid major damage?"

I was eying the water that the little girls had previously been waiting to swim in. If it could muffle the blast…

"No!" Evie snapped sharply. "Water is incompressible, dad. It doesn't dampen shock waves, it carries them. An explosion inside of an enclosed pool will do more harm to people close by than one in the air, especially if they're in the water with it. Get rid of the grenade where it's dry. You can take cover in the pool if it's exploding elsewhere, but don't jump in if it's at the bottom."

"Thanks, honey."

"The blast range for an M67 is about fifteen meters, by the way, but the kill zone is well under ten," she added authoritatively.

"Good to know," I grinned.

My baby genius had been really into high-grade explosives just before she hit double-digits. I'd found the episode of severe tomboyish-ness endearing. Her mother had not. Thinking of my late wife, I automatically switched into father mode and worried about Evelyn getting to class on time.

"You headed for the Marine Science Building, hon? You're wearing your boots, right?"

Distracted by her jogging, she confirmed, "Yeah."

"Cut between 595 Kapiolani Street and 199 Mohouli Street. Then follow the stream until you can cross over to the parking lot across the street from your class," I advised. She was miles away at UH Hilo, but I was a postman. I knew the streets of Hawaii like the back of my hand. I could find a shortcut on Molokai from memory, if I wanted to.

"Got it," she affirmed, picking up speed. "Thanks, daddy. Bye."

I would eternally be grateful that my child was a world-class airhead. When it came to processing her conversations while under-caffeinated, she fell humorously short on many occasions—that morning being one of them, thankfully. If she'd actually realized what I was asking, we would be having an entirely different conversation by then.

Chin Ho was back beside me again while the bad guys took their turn shooting. He looked absolutely flummoxed by the conversation he was overhearing. Well, as flummoxed as a guy with a stone-set poker face could look. Glancing over at him, I quickly signed off.

"See you later, sweetie. The old man loves you."

"I love you t…Hey, wait. Did you say you had a live grenade?"

"Have fun at class," I quipped as I hastily reached down to end the call and turn off the phone.

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**Argh! Does anyone know how to stop the evil paragraph blob? **


	27. Blitz, part 2

**I bet Grace is really glad that Danno would never put her through a phone call like that. Would he do it to Steve, on the other hand... :)**

**Again, thank you all so much for your comments and consideration. **

***_Any clues about the blob problem would be most welcome. Do I complain to the site somehow? Maybe I'm crazy._***

**All rightie. Back to work. **

**See you all soon! Enjoy!**

**Knyle B.**

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**Disclaimer: If H50 were a fish-the most beautiful fish in the world-and that fish was owned by a very, very lucky person...it would not be me. *sighs***

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Chin silently clipped the phone back on my belt without me asking. I would have thanked him, but the one hand remaining around the grenade trembled, so I re-clenched the other around it as fast as I could. When I felt safe enough to divert my attention, I looked over at my peace officer companion.

"There's a huge drop off in back of this house, right?" F

rowning, he nodded. "It's backed up right to the reserve. Why?"

"Because I think we can kill two birds with one stone, here," I replied, working my way carefully up into a crouch. "I've gotta move down this wall."

Although he didn't seem convinced, Kelly nodded his consent, leaping up to provide some cover fire for the woman hunkering down behind the red car. She was forced to keep her gun trained on the men in her charge rather than deal with the three goons trying to end her.

Actually, it was down to two goons. Chin Ho was focusing on keeping them from approaching her, but he'd made use of every takedown shot that presented itself.

He reloaded again as I made my way to the back of the house's yard. He only had four bullets left—we'd have to use them wisely.

The wall went all the way around, but I could see over the top that a steep hill started just behind it, dropping down into the park below. As much as I hated the thought of the habitat destruction, I figured trees were better candidates for undiscerning attack than human beings.

Catching Officer Kelly's eye, I pointed towards the two leftover gunmen and made a beckoning motion. Raising an eyebrow, he nodded and cocked his weapon. In a second, he'd stood up, firing with extreme precision down the side of the house that the crooks where hiding next to.

They were reloading. The approaching bullets forced them back, and soon they had to leave the cover of the bushes. To my delight, their chosen path had them running down the lawn towards the hill. And me. Peeking over the brick, I watched them come and smiled a little.

It was like blitzing. Easier than that, actually. Having a gun on your side seemed to help.

The next part of my plan was harder. Carefully, I took one of my hands off the grenade and cocked my arm back, ignoring the twinges of pain that went through my old throwing shoulder. The men were almost to the hill.

_Now or never_. Standing, I lobbed my missile with a prayer for even half of my old accuracy.

I got the full measure. Arcing through the air, the grenade landed exactly where I had wanted it to, partway down the top slope of the hill, just below a direct line-of-sight with the fleeing criminals. The explosion was bright, loud, and instantaneous.

Shoved onto my backside by the force of it, I was still able to watch as the fleeing thugs met my trap. They seemed to get hit by a tidal wave, though the hill protected them from the main detonation. With much flailing of limbs, both were thrown backwards into the grass amid a spray of dirt and turf.

Chin Ho had leapt the wall and was running over to them in an instant. By the time I got back up, rubbing my sore rear unobtrusively, he'd kicked their guns away and was cuffing the second of two stunned arrestees. I smiled at the sight.

Hopping over the wall, I felt my knees creak and sighed. The adrenaline from the shootout had spurred a reemergence of my former athleticism, but age always won out in the end.

_Ah, well_. I'd stopped mourning my retirement well before my forties.

Making my way over to Officer Kelly, I waited for him to haul both rickety criminals to their feet. Then I walked back towards the red car beside him. Sirens filtered into my ears as HPD cars finally careened onto the street from all directions, accompanied by a plethora of fire engines and ambulances.

Rolling my eyes, I joked, "Oh, good. The cavalry's just in time."

Chin Ho looked over at me and smiled, pushing his catches to walk a little faster. Nodding back towards the back yard, he inquired, "That was a nice play you pulled there."

I shrugged modestly. "Well, I've called a few in my time."

Like so much else in my life, I'd boiled it down to football. I did my best thinking through that lens, although with the ambush I had to abandon the offensive angle for a change. Once I'd realized the sort of power I had in my hands and knew a bit more about how it worked, the brainstorming began.

All those years dodging defensive ends had given me a healthy respect for the blindside attack. Nobody got sacked without a good dose of misdirection and a lot of oncoming power from the defensive team. I'd found that out the hard way the day I was injured. I figured some trigger-happy idiots were far more deserving of getting tackled than I had been—even if I _was_ three quarters of the way into winning the Super Bowl.

Abruptly, Chin Ho stopped, tugging the dazed shooters to a halt as well as he frowned and stared at me. "I know you," he said with conviction, studying my features. "Did you play?"

"Well…"

I wanted to say no. I had put twenty years between my early life and the man I was then. I had no regrets, but it was a bit of a switch to go from a postman and father to a known sports figure. My new stage of life, though considerably less glamorous, was comfortable and worthwhile. Usually I felt no need to rest on my laurels or recount the glory days.

Swiveling his head to see what was going on, the thug nearest to me saw my face and gasped. Eyes widening, he elbowed his buddy and tried to turn and face me, though Chin held him in place easily.

"Hey," the man slurred excitedly, "wake up, brah. It's Paul DeFord!" Turning back to me, he exclaimed, "I saw you in the Super Bowl, man! You played that whole last quarter with a dislocated shoulder, right?"

"DeFo? Za quarterba?" Even less coherent than the fist, the other one hung forward slightly to peer around his compatriot. Ogling up at me, he blinked and requested, "Can I have yur autogra?"

I sighed in my head, the choice to share obviously having been made for me.

"No. Keep moving." Pushing them both back into motion, Chin Ho looked over at me with a blessed lack of hero-worship. There was admiration, sure, but he wasn't gushing. I hated gushing. Relieved, I smiled at the twinkle in his eye.

"That explains the perfect throw, at least," he commented. We had reached the road, and the HPD officers were already busy getting hoodlums into cars and processing the scene of destruction. Eying my uniform, he remarked, "It's good to know the sports industry doesn't turn everybody into O.J. Simpson."

I laughed. "Yeah, it's been a quiet retirement. I had my little girl to look after, and it was time to start working for somebody besides myself. …Oh. Be right back."

Thinking of my station as a public servant, I remembered my mail bag and jogged back to the pool to retrieve it. Carefully checking to see that it hadn't been disturbed since I set it down beside the wall, I hefted the huge messenger-style tote over my head and settled it in place.

At one time, my broad shoulders and six-five frame had been used to protect a little, oblong ball of pigskin. Presently, they were in charge of the protecting the property, privacy, and correspondence of American citizens.

Some people would think of it as a step in the wrong direction. The pay was certainly dirt in comparison to my first career, but I cherished the rewards about a hundred times more.

Walking back over to the knot of police, I found Chin Ho and the woman on the edge of the activities, talking. They turned to me as I walked up. My eyes were on the multitude of vehicles clogging the street, though, not their expectant faces.

"So, what exactly was this, again?"

"Car bombing attempt. Sorta," the woman elucidated, turning to look at the wreckage as well. "They were on their way to the capitol building."

"Oh."

My eyes widening at the thought of what could have happened had that plan worked, I shook my head. The residential street had still taken some damage, though all houses were standing. The front yards were deep, luckily. Only a few windows, some landscaping, and a front porch had visibly been ruined.

"Was anybody hurt?"

"The fire department's making the rounds now," Chin updated me. "But it doesn't look like any residents took a hit."

I sighed gustily, thinking of the little girls. "Good. That's good."

Feeling the tension slowly draining out of my body, I suddenly remembered my manners. Giving my attention to the young woman who had so capably aided in the fight, I smiled in greeting and indicated her to Chin with my head.

"Are you going to introduce me to your partner, Kelly?" I prodded, thinking that she looked a little older than Evelyn's age. She had about the same build as my girl, too, though Evelyn was a bit shorter and had the muscles of a habitual pickup football player.

"This is Officer Kono Kalakaua," Chin supplied quickly. "She's my cousin."

"Paul DeFord," I introduced myself as I shook her hand warmly, noting the strength in her grip. I'd lost most of mine, but people still thought it formidable. "Keeping it in the family, huh?"

She nodded, glancing down at the way my hand pretty much made hers disappear. It seemed to amuse her. Then she straightened up with a frown, looking over at her fellow policeman. "DeFord? You used to have a ton of posters of a guy named—"

"He played football when I was just starting," the unflappable man interjected with just a little too much haste.

Noticing, his cousin grinned widely at him, eyes glinting mischievously. I suppressed a chuckle of my own. Around people I felt comfortable with, my public past was more than tolerable. Especially if it garnered funny results. Chin was giving Kono a mild look, a hint of warning behind his dark eyes. I wondered if the Asian man ever got more flustered than that.

"Well, I've got a job to do," I announced, slapping Chin on the shoulder and nodding to his cousin. "Who do I talk to around here so I can get back to work?"

Chin had just finished pointing me in the right direction when a new voice cut in. "Looks like you guys had the party without us."

As I walked away, I saw the two men from the foot chase returning, their targets cuffed and in tow. The whole party looked a little ragged, though the thugs had gotten the worst of it by far. Unmindful of the dirt and blood and overall state of disrepair they'd gotten themselves into—with the exception of the blond carefully combing his hair back into place with his fingers—they handed the goons off to a uniform and joined their two teammates.

Both the tall, dark man and his shorter, blond companion saw me leaving. It only took a few seconds for the recognition to set in.

Behind me, I heard the smaller of them question, "Hey, isn't that…"

"Yeah." His partner sounded floored.

"You too, huh?" Kono teased, sounding highly entertained. "I saw Chin's shrine growing up, but I never thought I'd see _you_ turn into a fangirl, boss."

Ducking my head, I told myself not to get embarrassed and approached the correct officer to give my statement to. She glanced up and looked surprised. I sighed inwardly. Something told me that I'd be borrowing a pen from her in the near future.

Although, I suddenly realized, I had just been talking to the members of friggin' _Five_-_0_.

Evelyn and I had been tracking them through the newscasts for months, enjoying whatever coverage we could get of their exploits. Maybe if they wanted my John Hancock, I could get them all to sign something for my daughter in return. I _might_ even consider giving it to her, if she was upset enough about the grenade call.

…Or not.

* * *

**And there you have it. Any thoughts?**

**Also, if at any time you guys come up with some random member of Joe Q. Public that you'd like to hear from or an event that I could use, feel free to let me know. I'd love to flesh out some of your ideas, if you'd like.**

**Thanks! Until next time, Knyle B.**


	28. Interviews, part one

**So, this is a long one again. Sorry. Suddenly one shots seem to be beyond me. ^^;**

**I was around small children this weekend and one of the ancillary guys (boyfriends of cousins, mostly) was this really cool, stoic dude who acted hilariously skittish around the only toddler at the gathering. She didn't leave him alone, though, and there were some really cute moments, all secretly preserved by camera phone. **

**I bet you know what this story is about now. Or do you?**

**Hope you like it!**

**Knyle B.**

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**Disclaimer: Hawaii Five-0 is like the horizon. I can do whatever I want to try and get closer, but it'll never mine.**

My mother's hand on my shoulder was an unwelcome start to the morning.

"Time to get up, sleepy head."

Groaning, I pushed out from under my covers. With one forlorn look at the clock on the nightstand, I blinked blearily up at her familiar face.

"Mom, it's a Sunday," I grumbled muzzily. "Can't the laundry wait until ten?"

She smiled apologetically. "It can, honey, but Mrs. Kerleone can't."

I groaned again, louder, and buried my face in the pillow. "Mooom…"

"She's our responsibility, Anna," my mother reminded me kindly. "Her daughter is paying us good money to look out for the family while she's off the island. All you have to do is go clear off her front walk and back porch so she can go to the store. It'll take a half hour."

"She never goes to the store, she just screeches that she will," I rumbled mutinously from where I'd burrowed back beneath the blankets.

The epitome of patience, my mother sighed and fell back on her mastery of button-pushing. "You want to see the keiki, don't you?"

With a final moan—of defeat—I rolled off the mattress and reached for my dresser. My mother gave me a brilliant smile and picked up her laundry basket again. I sent her one last, halfhearted glower as she breezed out of the room.

When I clumped down the stairs, the morning breeze wafted across me through the open windows, still heavy with moisture from the night's storm. Soon the cool that accompanied it would turn into hot mugginess, but for the time being I rubbed my arms to try and rid myself of the chill as I tromped groggily out the side door.

My parents and I lived way out of town. My family owned a six-unit apartment complex that sat right next to our house in the woods. Somehow, despite our isolation, it stayed filled year round, as did the two other buildings that we'd turned into duplexes. There were ten units that way, all of them moderately sized and very well kept up—mostly by me, it seemed.

The duplexes were side by side next to the house, and the apartments were set slightly back from them in a two-story stack: three on the top, three on the bottom. All ran parallel to the highway, though they were separated from it by the small parking lot that served our whole complex.

The half-duplex closest to our house belonged to the lovely Kerleones. Running a rural living space brought in all sorts of characters—most people who wanted to live away from the greater part of humanity had their reasons. After meeting the matriarch of the Kerleone family, I was not surprised that her daughter wanted to sequester her from the world while unsupervised.

As for the rest of the tenants, they were fine. My uncle worked with an equal-opportunity program, so sometimes some of his employees stayed with us, if they didn't need any special care. Sometimes it was drifters looking for temporary shelter, sometimes just harried people trying to live their tumultuous lives in peace. _All_ of the time, my parents carefully vetted each new occupant, so I'd never felt nervous or afraid around any of them.

Miss Kerleone-the-younger was nice. As a single mother with a hectic schedule, finding us had been a godsend. We were well used to taking special interest in our residents, thanks to my uncle's placements and the previous poor families we'd housed. We were able and willing to look after the woman's elderly mother and child while she was away.

Until we met them.

Or rather, until I'd met the oldest Kerleone.

Thinking dour thoughts about huge, cantankerous chipmunks in muumuus, I went to the sidewalk in front of the end door and started grabbing armfuls of sticks and garbage and other debris. I could see the drapes twitching in the corner of my eye.

Mrs. Kerleone was watching me. Of course. She had to make sure I didn't vandalize her—my family's—property or steal it or something, because that's what all nefarious juveniles did.

Grumbling darkly, I started making a pile of trash on an old tarp that had blown onto her grass. I would haul it to the dumpster or the compost heap when I was done. If I ever got done. The storm had been a wild one, and since the Kerleones' duplex was on the end, it had managed to snag most of the wind-discarded flotsam.

The sound of a car engine distracted me. Straightening, I sought out the source of the sound. Normally I wouldn't have bothered, but I knew the kind of noise a car from our neck of the woods—pun intended—would make. The familiar grating of a clunker was nothing like the rumbling purr that emitted from the vehicle that pulled up in front of my parent's house. Gleaming and expensive, it looked like a million bucks next to my dad's old wagon.

_Nice ride_, was the best I could come up with that early in the morning. Then the two occupants emerged, and my eyes widened. _Nice…just, _nice.

The two hot guys walked up to my front door and rang the bell. Realizing I was gawping, I bent back to my work, subtly checking to see if I'd worn anything too hideous or forgotten my pants or something. The durable shorts and t-shirt weren't exactly my first choice to make an impression in, but the fact that I'd foregone makeup was a tad more distressing.

The little flurry of girlishness faded fairly quickly; I sighed, accepting defeat, and threw another pile of crap onto the tarp. Boys usually didn't garner that much attention from me. My weekly quota of femininity felt spent. I had a boyfriend, anyway, and they were way past college age. That didn't make them any less good looking, in-shape, or give them a greater car, but…still.

_A girl can dream, can't she?_ an inner voice whined. I scoffed to myself and threw the next bundle down a little more viciously than necessary. I'd thought I had some sort of self-respect.

"Something the matter, miss?"

Dropping the pieces of cardboard I'd just picked up with an undignified squeak, I straightened and whirled. The two men were standing right behind me at the foot of the walk, looking carefully not amused.

They were even more attractive up close. Feeling heat rush into my cheeks, I shook my head frantically.

"What? No. I'm fine. It's great," I stammered.

"…Okay." Raising an eyebrow in the face of my disastrous attempt for nonchalance, the blond one glanced at the mess on the ground and then back at me. "Are you Anna Lund?"

I nodded.

The dark-haired one tapped the shield on his belt, fixing me with intense hazel eyes that seemed to match the color of his dark blue t-shirt. "Ms. Lund, I'm Commander Steve McGarrett, Five-0, and this is my partner, Detective Danny Williams. We need to ask your residents some questions. Your mother said you could show us around?"

_Five-0?_ My boyfriend was never gonna believe it.

Nodding too much again in answer, I rubbed off my hands and forearms, unthinkingly swiping my dirtied fingers on the front of my shorts. "Yeah, sure. Which residents? What sort of questions?"

"All of them, if possible. We're looking into the murder of a young woman," the Detective Williams explained. "One of our suspects fled the scene, heading this way, and we think he may have gotten rid of some incriminating evidence before we picked him up. We know that he was on this road, and your apartments are the only thing out here for miles."

My eyebrows rose in surprise as I mulled that over. "Well, I haven't seen anyone, but it's a big place. We haven't gone into a few outbuildings for a while. I can help you look around, too, if you'd like."

They exchanged an appraising glance. I wondered what the heck they were talking about, because that look was obviously communicating _something_.

"That would be great, Anna," McGarrett told me. "But before that, we need to speak to your renters."

"Oh! Right, yeah. This way."

Turning quickly, I led them up to the front door of the first duplex, which they very easily could have found on their own. I wondered why my mom had told them to have me show them around. For the talking part, anyway. I could help them navigate the property, but I was sure they'd questioned people before. …Although, we did have a ragtag bunch on our hands.

Mrs. Kerleone, for example.

Seized by nervousness, I suddenly turned and faced them, feeling responsible. "I should warn you," I said quietly, hoping the sharp-eared, sharper-tongued woman was too busy complaining to herself about her arthritis to listen in. "She's not the…best company. Sorry in advance."

Then I turned quickly back to the door, my courage failing me at the thought of looking at the impressive policemen a second longer than necessary. Why was my heart pounding? Knocking twice, I called through the wood, "Mrs. Kerleone, there are some men here from the police who would like to talk to you."

"What?" she demanded shrilly from within. I could hear the ancient armchair creaking in distress as she levered her bulk out of it.

Rather than keep shouting at an inanimate object, I waited until she'd wrenched the entryway open and favored her with my brightest, most mother-channeling smile. I gestured to the two cops—was the Governor's special task force still a cop thing?—waiting behind me.

"These men are from Five-0, Mrs. K. They'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Five oh? Never heard of it." She eyed us all with slit-eyed suspicion.

I'd had so much practice ignoring her spite that my smile never faltered. "They were on the news yesterday, ma'am. You were watching it when I dropped off Ella."

Her jaw jutted out a little, resentful to be called on her lie, but she nodded curtly and clumped out of the way. "Come in, then. What are you wasting my cool air for?"

Shooting an apologetic look back over my shoulder at the two officers, I ducked into the icily cold interior of her living space. She always had the AC on full blast. It would cut some of her daughter's bills down substantially if she'd just moderate a little, but the woman wasn't concerned with anything but her own benefit.

Exchanging another silent look over Mrs. Kerleone's frosty welcome, McGarrett and Williams followed me in. The detective closed the door behind us, thankfully, because if I had done it, the old bat would have barked at me for being too slow or slamming it or something.

Unable to stop sneaking glances at the two men, I saw how their eyes raked over the living room of the condo, quick and observant. Cop instinct? I was glad that I'd only just cleaned in the place the day before, anyway. Mrs. Kerleone didn't do much to pick up after herself, claiming poor health.

I thought she was just lazy. I'd seen her scamper across the yard to scold enough hapless passersby; I knew she was mobile and energetic when she deemed it useful.

Holding my tongue and my counsel—I hadn't ever had to worry about that until our worst tenant moved in—I followed the huge woman into her bright kitchen and stood quietly by. I always did my best to avoid her attention, so I stood behind her in front of the glass sliding doors to the back. I could have left to wait outside, but I felt it was my duty to make it sure the two inquisitors made it out of her clutches alive.

McGarrett and Williams took care of introducing themselves and their purpose. I was content to just stand by and stare at them. How could people seem so dynamic when they were just standing still? And why were they so good looking? All the cops I'd ever met were just ordinary people with cool jobs. These dudes looked good enough to hit Hollywood or even some pro sport and stay for a while—what possessed them to choose unglamorous public service?

"Have you seen any suspicious activity in the area of late, ma'am? Specifically around the time between last Tuesday and Thursday?" McGarrett was asking.

Mrs. Kerleone met his professional demeanor and polite questions with a disdainful sniff, her fists planted on her ample hips. "Of course. It's only to be expected, with the riffraff they keep around here. The man next door used to be a con artist, you know. And the woman two doors down is a runabout, men in there all the time, all types and all hours. You'll see when you get to the rest of them. It's a wonder no one's robbed me yet."

_Oh, good Lord._

The woman had an infinite store of self-righteous vitriol to share. It was so embarrassing. And irritating. Closing my eyes, I resisted the very strong urge to cover my face with my hands.

Catching a glimpse of McGarrett and Williams' faces only made things worse. They should have looked taken aback, flabbergasted…repulsed, even. Instead, they remained stoic and impassive. I sighed wistfully in my head. Those guys were so cool, and Mrs. Kerleone, me, my whole family property…so definitely _weren't_.

Ashamed, I stared at my shoes while the interview went on. I wanted to melt through the floor.

* * *

**"What? A mean old witch instead of some cute toddler? That's false advertising!"**

**Ah, well. **

**I did toy with the idea of Danny losing his temper, here, but if he could deal with his mother-in-law more or less civilly for two days (season one: he shipped her off to a hotel after that), he could definitely take on Mrs. Kerleone for one conversation.**

**On to the rest...**


	29. Interviews, part two

**All right. We have a crazy lady (dang, I forgot to give her a cat), the boys, and an insecure narrator. What more could I play with...?**

* * *

Movement in the top of my vision made me lift my head. I was standing at the back of the house facing the front. That gave me a clear view of the door to the bedroom, which had just opened. A small, dark-haired figure slipped out.

Still dressed in her light blue pajamas and pigtails, Ella, Mrs. Kerleone's granddaughter, entered the kitchen. Ignoring the adults clustered in front of her, she trotted silently over the tiles. The tiny four-year-old was still nine inches short of the surrounding counters, but she didn't seek attention as she went about her business.

Both McGarrett and Williams' eyes had swiveled down to watch the little girl pass. They were standing with their backs to the bedroom, McGarrett on my left closest to the counter, Williams on the right next to the dinner table. Ella only got their attention when she'd padded out in front of them.

There was a bright purple staircase sitting under the wall phone. She went directly to it and hefted it up, turning around with it wobbling in her grasp. Familiar with the device and her use of it, I stayed where I was and let her be.

Mrs. Kerleone was still talking, spewing all sorts of ire that nobody wanted to listen to in between her answers to the questions posed to her. The cops stayed patient and attentive through it all, which I had to admire. Since I was behind Mrs. Kerleone's back and was already in her bad books, I felt no need to do the same.

Leaning back against the sliding door, I crossed my arms and focused on Ella, tuning out her grandmother. The darling had brought her staircase over to the counter beside the fridge, setting it down noiselessly. This put her squarely between the muumuu-clad harpy and her guests, but Mrs. Kerleone paid her no heed.

She never did.

I scowled at the back of her blue-rinsed head. I had the distinct impression that Ella was left to her own devices when her flight-attendant mother was away at work and my family wasn't around to watch her. The poor guardianship of her grandmother was certainly the woman's biggest fault in my eyes. I just couldn't understand how such a hateful person could be related to that sweet little girl.

For all intents and purposes, Ella was an angel. She was sweet-tempered, unselfish, thoughtful, and extremely advanced. It had always been a special thing to see her small, shy smile, and I often found myself worried that she didn't let her natural exuberance show more. Since the family had moved in the year before, she'd been a child of silence and somber eyes. When I'd started babysitting her over the summer days, however, she proved herself to be as vibrant and rambunctious as any kid. It just took some time to get it out of her.

She was unlike all other girls her age in most other respects. I watched, fascinated, as the elfin child climbed up on top of the steps—plastic, so they were light enough for her to move it around the house as needed. She appeared to be making herself breakfast.

Opening a drawer, she pulled out a molded plastic, kid-sized butter knife. Then she stretched out her arms for the bag of sliced bread and a clump of bananas that were pushed up against the wall, having to practically lie on her tummy to reach them. It took her a little bit to work the banana she wanted free from its bunch, but with the help of the knife she managed to get it free and peeled. She cut up the banana into even slices and pushed them to the side of the plate, sneaking a piece or two for a snack while she worked.

Having never witnessed the morning ritual before, I was captivated by her ingenuity. Ella seemed completely capable of fending for herself in a kitchen. I was flabbergasted. Was she a four-year-old or a pod person? Regardless, she was certainly industrious.

From the cupboard above the counter where she stood, which she pried open with a wooden spoon, the miniature girl knocked out a plastic plate, a squeeze bottle of honey, and a jar of peanut butter, catching them one at a time and setting them down on the counter beside the knife.

_Is she even real?_

Totally engrossed in the little girl's exploits, I nevertheless heard Mrs. Kerleone winding down. I would probably be due to excuse myself and the two officers soon. Forcing myself to listen in, I tore my eyes away from Ella as she laid out two slices of bread on the plate.

I didn't get far.

While I was reluctantly bringing my gaze back to the older woman, I had to stop in surprise. Over Mrs. Kerleone's jiggling shoulders, I could see McGarrett looking sideways at Ella while his partner thanked her grandmother for her cooperation. His face was still a blank mask, but his eyes were intent, curious, and bemused.

Ella was squeezing honey onto one of the bread slices, humming tunefully to herself. McGarrett didn't seem to realize he was staring at her. I curiously noted the small frown line between his brows. Something about Ella was getting to him in particular. Sure, Williams snuck a few quick glances, too, and I could tell that he was as impressed as I was. But McGarrett's degree of unfamiliarity was even greater than that.

He looked like he'd never seen a toddler before.

It was…unexpectedly human. Kinda adorable. I swallowed a chuckle and turned my face towards my feet to hide the indulgent grin there. It looked like the big man on campus was awkward around kids. The chink in his armor was…endearing.

In response to Detective William's thanks for her help, Mrs. Kerleone huffed disgruntledly and looked at the clock. "I have to take my pills. See them out, Anna."

Without another word, she stumped into the bedroom and presumably the bathroom beyond, shutting the door behind her.

_Thank goodness_. It was over.

I stepped forward from the sliding door, intending to do as I'd been bidden, but Williams' phone rang. Pulling it out, he raised an eyebrow at the screen and hit the accept button. As he brought it to his ear, he looked chidingly over at his partner. "Chin's calling me. Thought I told you to charge your phone?"

McGarrett shrugged unabashedly. Williams sent him a mild glare and turned away. "Hey, Chin. Whattaya got?"

Remembering me, the commander looked up. I could tell he was about to either apologize or request to stay put while the blond took the call, so I just held up my hands dismissively. "It's fine. She'll be in there for a half hour at least. Take all the time you need."

Nodding, he crossed his arms and settled in to wait. Williams had walked away a few paces, talking quietly with his free hand; evidently he was a mover when he talked. That made me smile, too, but I looked at Ella while I did to hide why. I didn't want Five-0 to think I was laughing at them.

She was done with the honey. Reaching for the peanut butter, the little Hawaiian struggled to grip the lid with her miniscule fingers, but she just didn't have the strength for it. Ella sighed. A practical girl at heart, she gave up after a few seconds and decided to find help. It was another effort to wrap her hands securely around the jar and pick it up, but she did it. Turning towards the bedroom in her circle, she saw Commander McGarrett first. He'd looked over when he detected her movement.

His expression when she proffered her burden to him was classic. I was really enjoying my fly-on-the-wall status, just then.

It got me front row seats to watch the infamous Steve McGarrett react to Bambi eyes.

Clearly surprised by Ella's request, he automatically reached out, took the jar, and unscrewed it for her, setting the open container down on the counter next to her plate. Beside me, I noticed that Williams had stilled in his constant walking and was looking curiously over at the scene.

"Yeah," he answered the caller distractedly, getting pulled back into the conversation. Neither he nor I took our eyes off the duo, though, both moving back to lean against the closest vertical surface—I the sliding door, the detective the wall beside it.

With the jar open, Ella had picked up her plastic knife and scraped it across the top of the peanut butter. Her little hand wasn't strong enough to dig the knife in and pull it out, though, so only a thin film of the stuff turned up on the blade. She tried to smear the meager amount on the bread slice anyway; that just ended with the slice glued to her utensil. Picking up the whole ensemble, which looked like some cartoonish version of a fly swatter or spatula, Ella frowned at it glumly.

I felt bad for smiling at her plight, but I did. For all that she was the smartest kid I knew—including those in my age group—the poor thing was still constantly foiled by her diminutive stature.

McGarrett had also been watching the whole thing, brow furrowed. When the girl gave the knife a dejected waggle, looking defeated, he apparently couldn't stand to let her struggle anymore.

"Here, let me help," he muttered brusquely, pivoting to stand behind her thin back.

Glancing up at the man looming over her, the girl blinked through her shining black bangs. There was something warm in her dark, almond-shaped eyes as she looked at him and nodded agreeably. In the corner of my eye, I saw Williams straighten, eyebrows rising. Since he still appeared to be listening to the phone and was giving short replies or comments once and a while, I didn't consider asking him if McGarrett was usually so stiff with children. I observed the blond fiddle with the phone for a moment with his free hand, but my attention was drawn back to the unlikely pair at the counter.

Reaching around Ella, McGarrett gently took the knife out of her hand and put the bread back on the plate. She surrendered her failed peanut butter operation without a sound, curling both tiny hands on the edge of the counter instead. McGarrett didn't say another word, either. Moving efficiently, he dipped the knife in the jar and neatly spread the thick brown stuff for her. Then he stepped back, resuming his former position as if nothing had happened.

For a beat of silence, nobody moved except Ella, who methodically placed her sliced banana pieces on the honey and then carefully picked up the peanut-buttered slice, setting it on top. The sandwich complete, she paused, viewing her finished breakfast.

When she turned around again, McGarrett frowned slightly at her in askance.

She beamed at him.

He looked startled.

I had to clap a hand over my mouth to stifle the giggle welling up in my throat. It was the biggest grin I'd ever seen on her face. _Aaaaaaawwww…_

The imposing commander and Five-0 leader was obviously not as unapproachable as he first seemed.

I'd never seen anything more adorable in my life.

* * *

**This is not the most even partitioning of a story arc that I've done, but I'm just gonna go with it. I still have to deal with the paragraph blob, anyway.**

**And for those of you shouting "But Grace!" or "Joan!" here is my defense: McGarrett has dealt with two little girls that we know of. One is at least in double digits and very mature for her age, the other is cute but inarticulate and helpless. Encountering the mid-ranges could still be disconcerting for him. **

**Right?**


	30. Interviews, part three

**D'aaaw. But I still have to do some sort of plot-ish thing still, don't I?**

* * *

The nearly inaudible sound of a finger tapping against a screen diverted me from my inner gushing. Turning, I saw the detective surreptitiously returning his phone to his ear, grinning broadly.

He'd been filming the whole thing. I stared at him, shocked at the mischief in his expression. He saw me looking and winked, holding a finger up to his lips. I gathered that his call had ended a while before; he just kept talking so he could catch his partner going soft for a four-year-old.

_Clever_.

Forced to admire his cunning, I grinned at him and looked at the floor, trying to school my expression into some semblance of normality while he turned away and said something aloud to make it sound like he was just getting off the phone.

When Williams "hung up" and put the phone back in his pocket, McGarrett looked over innocently. He was clearly intending to act like he'd been standing there with his arms crossed the whole time.

God, I wanted to laugh so badly. I stopped myself, though, and also avoided shaking my head incredulously as I turned to Williams. I didn't think I could hide my amusement from the other man if I looked at him straight on for too long, but the detective was a fellow conspirator and a much better actor than I. Let him face his partner.

"Would you two like to go see the other tenants, now?" I asked, pleased that my voice didn't even quiver with laughter.

"That'd be great," he confirmed with a nod, pushing off the wall. McGarrett walked over as I turned and pulled open the glass door, having already seen that Mrs. Kerleone's "con artist" neighbor—he'd owned a Laundromat in Toledo—was on his back porch reading the newspaper.

"What'd Chin say?" the tall one asked as I held the door open for them.

While Williams filled him in and they walked by, I looked back into the kitchen. Ella had put everything away, somehow, and was climbing down her steps, using a cutting board as a tray. The paper plate, a juice box, and a small, travel-sized box of Cheerios sat on top of it. I waved.

"See you around, Ella."

"Bye, Anna," she murmured softly, giving me her more normal, shy smile as she got to the ground and turned towards the table.

Closing the door behind me, I went over to stand behind Williams and McGarrett, who were already interviewing Mr. Brunson. Over the course of the next hour, I trailed along behind them as they canvassed the complex, occasionally making introductions or offering words of forewarning when needed.

And laughing. I was doing a lot of laughing.

Hiding yet another grin behind my hand as the two of them bickered between doorways, I had to shake my head wonderingly. Weren't cops supposed to be serious, as opposed to seriously entertaining? After the first thirty minutes, I'd almost completely relaxed around them.

My initial reaction to them was still correct; they were good looking, impressive, amazing people. I'd just forgotten to take that sentence as a whole. McGarrett and Williams were _people_—remarkable, awesome people, but people all the same. They went at it like an old married couple, too, though they were clearly more akin to brothers. T

hankfully, I was no longer ashamed to have them there at my home—more like excited and highly amused. Suddenly I understood my cousin's fascination with the team. He lived in the closest residential district to the palace. He must have seen plenty of Five-0's antics and charm ever since the task force had gone into action.

It was saddening to come to the last door. Standing on the front porch of apartment six, I glanced at the two Five-0 men. So far, the residents had been unable to help much. It was frustrating, and the partners' faces showed it. I felt bad that I couldn't have been more helpful.

The most anyone had been able to offer about the night in question was that a wind storm had taken place and created some substantial wreckage in the back field that was our lawn. One of the utility building's contents had broken free of their fastenings and been scattered across the grass by the crazy weather.

Maybe someone had shaken them from their moorings, somehow. That was the only idea I could come up with that wouldn't lead to disappointment on Five-0's part.

When the final door closed with no new answers gleaned, I sighed in vexation. "Well, that's it," I told McGarrett and Williams dejectedly. "There's no one else to talk to. Do you want me to take you out back—"

"You didn't talk to me."

Forgetting what I was saying midsentence, I jumped and looked down. There was a dark head hovering just behind my leg, and two dark, Polynesian eyes stared up through a fringe of bangs. Quickly, the two partners crouched down to her height at the same time.

"Did you see something that night, sweetheart?" Williams questioned her.

Ella blinked in her thoughtful way and turned to the two policemen. Shyly, she wrapped an arm around the back of my knee and nodded.

When she wasn't instantly forthcoming, McGarrett shifted impatiently and coaxed, "What did you see…" Obviously not one for pet names, he glanced up at me inquiringly.

Running a hand over the top of her silken hair, I filled in helpfully, "Ella."

"Ella?" He turned back at her. Ella had both of their stares levelled at her then. I didn't think I could handle that, if it was me, but she was her normal tranquil self.

"I woke up. Nana was too tired to help me with the microwave, so I watched it rain," she murmured, her free hand playing with the hem of her PJ shirt. "There was a man outside. I don't think he liked getting rained on, 'cos he tried to get into the shed with the mower, but he couldn't, 'cos he walked funny and his arm wasn't working right."

"Like he had a gash on his thigh and a bullet in his shoulder," Williams muttered to his partner, who nodded. To Ella he requested in proper child-addressing fashion, "Do you think you could show us to where you saw the man, honey?"

The elfin girl nodded. Letting go of my knee, she walked to the side of the open porch. To my shock, she paused at the edge, which was about a two feet off the ground, and held out her hand to the nearest adult who had come up behind her.

Looking flummoxed once again, though he hid it fairly well, McGarrett glanced at his partner for help. Williams, however, was looking incredibly amused and offered nothing. The commander abandoned that quickly.

The little girl was waiting in patience. With a hint of trepidation, he curled his long fingers around Ella's comparatively miniscule hand and lifted her down to the ground with one arm, stepping down beside her.

Williams slipped his phone out of his pocket again, grinning just like I was at the pair they made. But it wasn't over. Once her human elevator's feet hit the grass, Ella simply transferred her grip to clamp around one of his fingers and walked off, tugging poor, mystified McGarrett along beside her.

I laughed, quickly muffling the sound with my hands, but Williams was chuckling at his partner's plight, too. We hopped off the porch after the mismatched duo, keeping behind them so he could gleefully snap a picture of his tall, intimidating, probably dangerous boss allowing a gung ho four-year-old to tow him across the lawn.

Ella led us to the biggest shed on the property. It was more of a barn, really, and was where we kept the tractor-style lawn mower and our other big equipment or vehicles. The detective's phone was once again safely hidden in his pocket, and I was just reaching in my pockets for the keys to it when the little one veered sharply to the right.

Williams and I quickened our stride to catch up to them as they went around the side of the structure to the next outbuilding, a small lean-to with open sides. I frowned. It was the one that had all of its equipment blown out of it by the storm. A tie-rope had been damaged and snapped, allowing the wind to carry canoes, shovels, tarps, and all manner of things away.

I waited for Ella to stop in the grass in front of the lean-to and pressed her, "Ella, I thought you said he went to the shed with the lawn mower in it."

"Uh huh." She nodded, but as she did she pointed at the mud that stretched between the barn and its closest neighbor. "But there were footprints over here when the sun came up."

Instantly businesslike, the two policemen moved forward to check it out. Ella released McGarrett without being asked and bounced over to me, her messy pigtails swinging around her head. I redid them while we waited off to the side, my thoughts a dichotomy. Yes, it was remarkable what Ella had done. But what if the mysterious stranger had stayed until morning when she went to investigate? She'd have come out alone and approached him without a thought, blithely unaware of the possible consequences.

I shuddered, leaning down to look at her face from the side. "If you ever see someone you don't know around here again, you tell your mom or come get me and my parents, okay? Don't go nosing after them by yourself."

Having escaped that terrible period where every statement is met with unending reiterations of "why," Ella just nodded in agreement. I was done with her hair, so she hugged my leg in thanks and bobbed away towards her duplex without another word. I was used to that.

Watching her go, I didn't see Williams straighten up abruptly from his search of a woodpile and bang his head on the underside of a racked canoe. I heard him curse in reaction, though. Glad Ella was out of earshot, I spun to see what the commotion was about. The blond was just extracting himself from the lean-to, something small held in his gloved hands.

Having disappeared from sight, McGarrett suddenly dropped down from the rafters and followed him out, standing at his partner's shoulder to examine the discovery. Flipping through the little book's pages, Williams raised his eyebrows and looked up at me, brandishing the leather-bound volume. "You wouldn't happen to know of a tenant stashing a blood-covered diary back here, would you?"

I shook my head.

McGarrett grinned. "We got him."

When we reached the parking lot, the murdered woman's diary stuck safely in an evidence bag in Williams' hand, I was reluctant to say good bye. It was time for Five-0 to book it out of my Podunk corner of the island and get back to the whole saving-lives and shooting-stuff thing.

I'd always admired their work and I loved to hear about it on the news. I just didn't want my little sliver of the action to end. Lingering in the yard as the two men stopped to talk to my mother, I heard her wish them well and turned begrudgingly back towards the mess on Mrs. Kerleone's lawn.

_Back to the rat race_…

Ella exited her grandmother's apartment through the front door, stopping to put the stool she'd used to reach the door handle outside so she could return. Then she got carefully down the steps and bounced towards me with her usual energetic gait, a sheet of paper in her hand.

Speeding right past me to the sidewalk in front of the parking lot, she suddenly pulled up short. The three gathered adults switched their attention to the bashful newcomer. Ella fidgeted, the paper only partially hidden from them behind her back and clear to me since I wasn't in front of her.

I grinned at the crayon rendering. Besides her usual repertoire of green grass, facsimiles of duplexes, and the forest, she'd added a tall black figure, a shorter blond one, and the pigtailed midget between them. The dark one was curled over just like McGarrett had been in order to hold the middle person's hand.

"Here to say hello, Ella?" my mother surmised, seeing the girl in her usual shy habit of staring at her toes.

"Oh, we've already met," Detective Williams disclosed, taking a step closer to Ella so he could crouch down in front of her. "Thanks for your help today," he murmured to her. "We found what that guy was hiding out at the shed. Now this goof and I can go get him."

"Welcome," she answered, her shy smile evident in her voice. Producing her artwork, she held it out tentatively to the blond man. "I colored this for you. S'not very good, but…"

"What, are you kidding me? It's a masterpiece. Look at this." Williams nudged McGarrett with his elbow, holding it so his partner could look over his shoulder. Even though he was back to impersonating a foreboding statue, McGarrett glanced down and nodded. I saw the faintest of smiles quirk at his lips, too.

Always caught off guard by praise, Ella lifted her head a little; I imagined her eyes crinkling with a smile through her bangs—I really needed to trim those soon. And beat it into Mrs. Kerleone's head that her granddaughter was amazing and wonderful and completely beyond what she deserved to have as kin. What kind of grandmother raised a child that was bewildered by compliments?

Unaware of my inner fury, Ella looked at Danny Williams and guessed completely out of the blue, "You're a daddy, huh?"

"Me?" The blond man looked baffled. "Yeah, I've got a daughter."

His blue eyes sought me out over the little girl's head, confused, but I just shrugged. Ella was the queen of insightful non-sequitur. _"From the mouths of babes,"_ and all that.

"I thought so, 'cos you're like mommy," she shared ambiguously. Trotting around Williams all of a sudden, she went over to McGarrett and patted his knee comfortingly. "Don't worry. You'll get lots better."

Then she was skipping away, flouncing over the grass back to her front door. I laughed aloud with my mother as the little girl called over her shoulder, "You should go catch the bad guy now. He shouldn't run very fast, 'cos nobody told him how to use his legs very good."

McGarrett was flustered again. Smirking at him, Williams straightened, waving goodbye to Ella with the hand that didn't hold her drawing. "We'll do that." To my mother and me, he smiled. "Thanks."

"Good luck," mother wished them both as the men split up, McGarrett rounding the front of the car to the driver's seat, Williams opening the passenger door. Giving us both a quick salute, the detective slid into his seat and closed the door. The beautiful car backed out and sped out of the parking lot, veering back towards civilization.

I sighed sorrowfully. In a few more minutes, Commander Steve McGarrett and Detective Danny Williams would melt back into the distance, just two names whose exploits I'd hear about and whose legend I'd enjoy. Depressing.

_Or maybe not_, I thought as I went back to my thankless yard work. They were far more than figureheads to me, after that morning. While the rest of my friends and most of Hawaii were stuck with an aloof spread of characters and secondhand accounts, I had met the actual guys behind the names.

And I liked them.

McGarrett and Williams were funny, smart, capable, and by turns otherworldly and human—especially around small children. In short, they were real. I knew that, super cops or not, that was never gonna change. The cars might, and the looks might, and the reputations might, but not them. At the core of Five-0 was a group of people with genuine concern for doing good and the personalities to see it through. Which _I_ had gotten to experience firsthand.

I couldn't wait to tell my boyfriend.

* * *

**Okay, so I didn't give ****_everything_**** away at the beginning. I hope. :)**

**Thank you all for reading. ...What did you think? **

**Until next time-**

**Knyle B.**


	31. Love Tap

**Hi guys. Sorry for the wait, but filling up my grandpa's hospital room took precedence.**

**Joy of joys: I can still write actual one shots. I was beginning to doubt. **

**Anyway, I'm just stealing a few moments to post this, so I've gotta run.**

**Enjoy!**

**Knyle B.**

* * *

***re-edit* I forgot the Disclaimer: H50 is not mine. You'd know if it was, because there would be a lot more bromance and core-team time and none of this let's-put-Steve-with-everybody-else-except-Danno crud.**

* * *

It was cramped inside the van. Sitting on my ass with my knees tucked up under my chin, I rolled my eyes as the guy next to me hit me in the ribs with his elbow. Again. I seethed inwardly. If I wasn't working a job, he'd have lost that arm by then. I

t was almost time to move, at least. The target usually got back to her postage-stamp apartment around ten. Five minutes more in that aggravating little box, and we could make the grab, deliver, get paid, and go home.

I hadn't run a pickup for years. I wasn't usually given those sorts of jobs after I'd been moved up to personal security, but the bosses wanted things done right. Apparently the guys at Five-0 were sticking their noses into business that didn't pertain for them, so my employers felt the need to remind them of their manners.

I could see why. The governor's task force had been a royal pain in the ass since it got started. We still ran the islands, but they were putting that fact into contention with a ferocity that HPD hadn't exhibited for generations. Sadly, it was harder to use "soft politics" on a band of four. Since corrupting Five-0 was off the table, muscle was the next best option.

That's where I came in. We were going to send Five-0 a message through their adopted rookie. I didn't expect any complications, but the bosses didn't seem so sure. To them, the issue was important enough to merit a team of old-hands in the business and little old me, senior member of the protection detail for the boss's kid. I wasn't gonna question it.

Two minutes before action. I motioned for the driver to start rolling towards our destination: the parking lot of Kono Kalakaua's apartment building. I was in the back with four armed guys while the driver and a lookout took up the front. They'd get us close to the girl, we'd jump out and snatch her, and then it would be a short ride to the closest marina and our delivery ship.

"Her car's just pulling in," the lookout reported, looking ahead to the lot as we approached. "She's alone."

"Good. Pull in. We're going hard and fast," I ordered, addressing all of my men. Not for the first time, I wondered why the bosses felt the need to send six heavies plus me in after some little slip of a girl. _Whatever. It'll just get us home faster_. "Alani, Ortiz, you're out first, get a hold on her. We'll cut off her route to the building and circle up."

The van's engine revved as the driver gunned it into the lot. I checked my weapon along with everyone else, making sure that the guy in charge of tying her up had all the proper restraints at the ready. The brakes engaged. Alani grabbed the handle of the back door in preparation.

I grinned as the driver barked out the okay. "Let's get this bitch."

Flinging the doors wide as the vehicle stopped moving, Alani and Ortiz leapt out. They had to run to catch up to Kalakaua, who'd seen us coming and made a break for cover. I followed with the rest of the men, keeping to the back to coordinate their movements. Our fastest guy booked it to the front without having to be told, cutting her off.

That was all we needed. When she broke momentum to change directions, the rest of the guys surged forward and surrounded her. I smiled to myself. It was nice to work with professionals, I reflected, watching alertly as Alani and Ortiz lunged forward to grab her. The rest of us tightened the circle as they left it. In moments, the two men had the woman fully engaged—and their hands full.

I scowled as Alani got a fist in his face and Ortiz was thrown backwards by a side-kick. The lady cop was fast. While she was distracted, though, the quickest man we had darted at her again, ripping the gun out of her holster while she tried to get Alani in a headlock. Then he threw an arm around her neck and smashed a rag into her face with his other hand, trying to keep her from shouting for help while he waited for the chemical in the fabric to do its work.

The chloroform didn't take immediate effect. She was still kicking my men's asses. Frowning, I glanced at the apartments. It was taking too long; we had to get out before we were discovered. I waved the rest forward. Obediently, they swarmed the hellcat that the girl had suddenly become, overpowering her through sheer numbers. In the end, they had to lift her bodily off her feet.

It took a guy on every limb to make her harmless, and even then she still struggled. Seeing that the rag was still pressed to her nose and mouth, I gestured angrily at the open back of the van.

"Just gag her with it and get her in!" I hissed.

In a few seconds, everyone had piled back into the van. I jumped in last, slamming the doors, and we sped onto the street again. Three minutes to the marina. We were almost done.

The men were working on binding Kalakaua's hands and feet. Mumbling furiously around the cloth stuffed between her lips, she kicked and writhed, giving just as good as she got. My men had to practically fashion a cocoon out of the ropes we had just to keep her flailing from causing further injury.

When she was finally unable to move, I glared at my runner—who, creatively, was called Speedy.

"Next time I tell you to chloroform somebody, actually soak it into the rag!" I berated him.

He looked contrite, but I didn't give a shit about excuses.

I jabbed a finger at her bright, glaring eyes. "Did you bring more?"

He shook his head mutely. I resisted the urge to punch his teeth in.

Closing my eyes, I promised darkly, "I'm gonna beat the stupid right out of you when we're done here."

He paled considerably. Satisfied that he'd be slightly more efficient until we had our chat, I subsided to fume in silence, and we all settled in to wait out the ride.

With another person added to the mix, the van was even tighter. Trying to ignore the foot pressed into my calf, I took stock. The faces of my team were grim, most of them bruised or bleeding. One guy cradled his arm against his side, and I'd seen at least two limping. Three of them were still holding our prisoner down to keep her from wiggling free.

Thinking of the disaster that would have befallen us with just one less player, I shook my head and called to the driver, "How soon 'til we get there?"

"Three blocks and an intersection," he reported curtly, wrenching the wheel around the corner. "There's some construction—oh shit!"

Both he and the lookout visibly started to panic at what they'd seen outside.

Stuck in the windowless back, I growled in frustration and demanded, "What is it?"

Then I heard the sirens. They were far away, but getting louder.

"It's Five-0," the lookout squeaked in terror. "They're coming up fast."

On the floor, Kalakaua tipped her head back to look at me. Her eyes glittered triumphantly.

"Shut up," I snapped at her, even though I knew she hadn't said anything. Raising my voice, I ordered, "Lose them if you can, but get us enough space to be able to unload at the docks. We'll have to split up from there."

Then I started organizing my men, assigning who would come with me and the girl and who'd go get the boat ready for the rest of us. It was hard to focus, what with the damn cop's eyes mocking me, the car getting thrown this way and that as the driver tried to get us clear, and the sirens in the background distracting us all. I managed to get everybody on the same page anyway.

The van screeched into the warehouse district on the docks. We jumped off and dispersed. Ortiz, Alani, and I took the girl, cutting the ropes on her legs so she could be towed along between the two enormous men with me.

The driver roared away as soon as we'd hauled her out, barely waiting for the doors to close. He thought I was letting him get away. I knew the other cops would catch both him and the lookout; they'd just serve as a distraction while we got our package delivered.

We threaded through the moonlit dockyards, slinking between shipping containers, loading bays, and outbuildings. The girl put up a fight—of course—but she only managed to head butt Ortiz before I pulled her own gun on her. I'd picked it up after Speedy stole it back in the parking lot. The pressure of a pistol against her lower back kept her nice and docile. I grinned tightly as we neared the slip where our ride would be waiting.

"You cops," I whispered to her condescendingly. "So tough until somebody takes your toys away and turns 'em around on you."

Still gagged, she couldn't say anything in reply. I smirked at the back of her head. The dock was just ahead. A hundred yards more and we'd be on our way out to open sea, headed for a hefty paycheck. I could no longer tell if I was more excited about the money or getting rid of the girl, but either way I couldn't wait.

Then somebody started shooting. The bullets were still far off, at least. They undoubtedly meant trouble, but we had some lead time.

Urging the others into a run, I barked, "Go, go, go!"

Alani and Ortiz took off towards the boat, lifting Kalakaua up by the arms so they could run unimpeded. I followed right on their heels. We were almost to the boat. Just a few more feet…

"I see them!" somebody shouted back by the closest warehouse.

_Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshit_…

Leaping into the boat behind Ortiz and his armful of captured police officer, I ran over to the wheel and got the engine going while Alani threw off the tie lines. I didn't wait for him to finish. As soon as he'd tugged the last rope free, I gunned it away from the pier, ignoring my crewman's dismayed shouts to come back.

Stuffing the gun into the back of my waistband to free both hands, I dug frantically in my pockets while I steered us into open waters. The harbor was dark, but there were enough lights around to navigate by. Even if there weren't, I'd have still gunned it. I had the throttle wide open, and it still didn't feel like we were running fast enough.

Five-0 wasn't supposed to get so close so quickly. I'd underestimated them—just like I'd nearly underestimated the struggling woman behind me in the boat, who was valiantly trying to get Ortiz to stop sitting on her.

I finally pulled out my phone as he was laughing at her for trying to kick him. Dialing my boss, I slapped it to my ear and waited breathlessly for him to pick up.

"What?" he rumbled as he picked up the phone.

_Already in a bad mood_. I gulped. "Listen, boss, things didn't go quite like we planned," I confessed, sweeping our boat around a larger yacht so I could finally leave the enclosure of the marina. "We got Kalakaua, but Five-0's almost on top of us. We need a new plan, here."

"McGarrett's after you?" he clarified, sounding uncannily tranquil.

"Yeah, and the rest of them, too!" I cried, hearing a police boat siren start up in the distance. "You gotta help us out, man! What do I do?"

"Don't call this number ever again." He hung up with a deafening click.

Dumbfounded, I stared at the phone, feeling my stomach sink to somewhere below the waves. We were on our own. What the hell was I gonna—

A grunt and thud behind me made me tense up like a spring. Before I could discard my cell and reach for the gun, however, it was yanked out of my pants and pressed against my temple.

_Oh mother fucking hell_.

Standing tall, strong, and completely unbound beside me, Kono Kalakaua pulled the rag out of her mouth and threw it away, smirking at my astonished expression. Ortiz lay in a heap at her feet, and the ropes were just a limp pile of cord on the ground beside him. I'd forgotten they used one long rope to bind her; cutting one part of her bonds severed the whole system.

"Throttle down," she ordered imperiously, keeping the gun trained to my face.

As I obeyed, the police boat roared up beside us with much fanfare and flashing blue lights. McGarrett himself leaped over the gap between the watercraft and landed on the decking next to Ortiz, his gun trained on me since midway across.

"You okay, Kono?" he muttered behind me.

"Good, boss."

As our boat came to a stop, I cut the engine and turned slowly around, my hands in the air. That was it. I was done. Screwed. Abandoned by my bosses, failed by my underlings, held at gunpoint by my own prisoner.

_What a god-awful night_, I thought as I stood there and trembled.

Standing there waiting to put a bullet in me if needed, McGarrett looked sideways at his rookie. "Thought I told you to go home and get some sleep."

She grinned, accepting the handcuffs he proffered to her and coming over to start patting me down. "Somebody's gotta get some work done around here, boss," she jibed, standing and wrenching my arms behind my back. "Thought I'd save the _veterans_ the trouble of pulling these guys in."

"Ohh!" Chin Ho Kelly exclaimed with a huge grin as he leapt over from the stationary police boat, feigning that he was holding his heart. "She's cold, brah."

I regarded him nervously, realizing that he was Kono's family member and very likely to want me dead. It was the correct assumption. When he looked at me, I saw the cold fury hiding behind his smile and wished I could melt through the floor. I'd thought McGarrett's glare was terrifying, but if looks could kill…

Then the last member of the four-person team finally clambered aboard. Danny Williams was surprisingly nimble, for somebody with the reputation for being a by-the-book and easily moved to complain. Curiously, I got the same dangerous vibe from him as I did from his teammates.

As if to prove that observation wrong, though, he straightened up from his jump and eyed me with the most civil expression of all of them. He sounded almost casual as he questioned his female coworker, "This is the ringleader, Kono?"

"Yeah." She, McGarrett, and Kelly glared daggers at me. It took everything I had not to cower away. As it was, I did shrink back a step when she added angrily, "He ran the whole thing with the ground team, though I'm sure there's a bigger fish holding his leash."

"Uh huh."

Williams sounded strangely calm. The others looked over at him along with me, their expressions mirroring a little of the bemusement I felt. Frowning, I wondered, _This guy's a cop? _I'd just taken his teammate captive and tried to sell her to some high-level crime bosses, and it looked like he didn't care at a—

The punch rocked my head back so hard that it sent me toppling over the side.

I fell into the ocean between the two boats. Head reeling, jaw screaming, and body sinking, I was too stunned by the blow to do anything about the water greedily sucking me deeper. Bubbles drifted up towards the lights on the surface above me, followed by a black trail of something. In the dark night water, it looked like ink.

_Blood_? My mind drifted to sharks, and I started to panic.

Before I could really start thrashing, something latched onto my ankle and yanked me upwards. McGarrett and Kelly hauled me back into the boat with them, dumping me onto the hard deck to cough and splutter in an expanding pool of saltwater. Lying limply on my side, I shivered in the cool night air and spat out more water, watching the shoes of Five-0 move around me.

Kono had Williams up at the front of the boat, keeping him away from me. He had his arms crossed over his chest, still composed. The only difference was now I could see the uninhibited urge to commit murder in his eyes as he glowered at me under Kalakaua's outspread arm.

Over my shaking frame, McGarrett muttered jealously, "How come Danny gets to hit him?"

"Don't pout on _me_, brah," his fellow officer warned unsympathetically. "She's _my_ cousin."

Sighing disappointedly, McGarrett bent and jerked me to my feet, ignoring my groan of pain.

"You shouldn't try to jump off boats with your hands locked together," he chided me falsely, obviously fabricating the story they'd put on the official report of what happened.

Feeling too weak and battered to object, I coughed wetly and sagged into his hold. My head hurt _so_ bad…

To his teammate, the commander mused thoughtfully, "Well, even if we _should_ have got dibs, at least Danny has the best fists for it. He almost knocked me flat on the first day we worked together."

"You mean the first day you pressganged me into helping you," the detective corrected him, walking back over.

I flinched away from his approach, lunging willingly into the hands of the officer leaning over for me from the police boat.

Giving me one last parting stare that made my knees feel like jelly, he added, "And if anyone deserved dibs, that would be Kono." He gave her an apologetic glance. "Sorry, kid."

She waved him off. "We're good, brah. Boss's right; none of us could have given him a bath to go along with the love tap."

They laughed. The officer who had a hold on me shook her head, pulling me away from that side of the boat towards the holding pen. I went with her willingly, stumbling along as my head swam dizzyingly. Pain was throbbing through my whole skull and down my neck. There was liquid running down my cheeks that was definitely not seawater.

"I thn m'jas brkn," I mumbled agonizingly, tearing up all over again as my discomfort ratcheted up a few notches with the words.

The policewoman huffed indifferently.

"You got off lucky," she imparted as she ushered me into the cage at the back of the boat. "Last time somebody tried to kidnap a girl close to Williams, it was his daughter. I hear he kneecapped him without even blinking."

_Oh God_. What had I just escaped from? _When did they start letting mobsters carry badges_?

While I stared at her, she continued seriously, "And Chin Ho might seem Zen to you right now, but Kono's all he's got. McGarrett's a SEAL, too. They look after their own." She locked the door and walked away, throwing back over her shoulder, "I'd sleep with one eye open while I was in lockup, if I were you."

I gulped and mewled in pain at the new information and advisory, falling back onto the hard bench in a state of miserable collapse. My whole body was shivering, and it was only partly due to the cold water. I could still hear the four teammates on my boat, talking and moving around purposefully as they processed it. I shuddered.

_That_ was Five-0? _Those_ were the people my bosses were messing with? What the hell were they thinking, targeting a member of such a perilous unit? Every rumor I'd heard was founded in cold, hard fact. I had no problem imagining people being dangled off buildings or dropped into shark infested waters. Hunching pitifully to try and keep warm, I shook my head.

Suddenly, I was fiercely glad to be behind bars, well out of the way of the coming skirmish between the two powers. Somebody who had been bankrolling my career up until that point thought a bunch of goons and hired muscle was going to be able to handle three cops and a member of the Navy Reserves.

Whoever that was probably didn't want to hear my opinion, but if he asked, I'd happily tell him the truth:

Our side was doomed.

* * *

**Well, what do you think? I have more written down, by the way. I'll post when I can.**

**A little slice of my family's humor: **

_**Grandpa as we arrive: "What are you doing here?" **_

_**Aunt: "We're grouchy old man deprived." (Grandpa is the sweetest guy around, sans frequent sarcasm) **_

_**Grandpa: "You have your husband for that." **_

_**Cousin: "He's here for some pointers." **_

_**Grandpa: "You're out of the will." **_

**...Can you see why the bantering on the show appeals to me?**


	32. Stranded, part one

**My 20th story line. Wow. Thank all of you for being so supportive and wonderful up to this point. I never imagined that I'd get this far.**

**Speaking of which, I've just joined a whump-loving forum and realized that I am terribly lacking in that department. This should begin to fix that. It's another monster, I'm afraid. Let the chapter partitioning begin.**

**Enjoy!**

**Knyle B.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: H50 is not mine. If it was...hmm. Well, I guess we won't write that down. ;)**

* * *

It was a bad night. The rain was incessant, the wind lashed in straight-line horizontals, and the forest all but thundered with the damage it was taking. I'd be lucky if the storm didn't take off most of the roof by morning, but it wasn't like there was anything I could do.

The tsunami had hit the far side of the island. Although I wasn't close enough to be threatened by the wave, the package it came in presented a very real threat. Not that I was that concerned. I'd lived long enough and survived enough of Nature's upsets. It hadn't made me cocky, but I was confident that my position was stable for the time being.

Then Koa growled, and I knew the evening wasn't over yet. I heard him scratching at the door and sighed. "You'd better not be asking for a walkabout in this."

He groaned deep in his throat, his usual method of communication, and dragged his claws over the wood again. Knowing from the start that whatever had set him off was serious—I was an old coot, but I hadn't gone stupid yet—I quieted. For a beat, all there was to hear was Pele's rage battering against my windows, but soon another noise filtered through.

I stiffened as the low wub-wub reached my ears, incredulous as my dog's alert finally made sense.

"What the hell are they doing?" I demanded to no one in particular, sheathing my knife and setting aside the hunk of wood in my hands. Talking to myself was a habit. Probably a bad one, but what did I care? I was a grumpy old man living illegally in the woods with a formerly stray dog. It wasn't like people were going to think I was _stranger_.

The sound was getting louder—as was the storm. There wasn't much question over who would win that sound-off. _Those fucking idiots_.

Shaking my head, I looked to my friend for wisdom on the moronic human condition. "Are they suicidal?"

Koa rumbled his answer just as the storm surged in power. The wind could only be described as a howl, drowning out the rest of the night sounds like a lei-wearing banshee. Its gusts tore something noisily off the roof over my head. I flinched and swore. It'd take me ages to get the damned thing back into shape.

A sympathetic moan eased my pique. Sitting back in my chair, I glowered upwards, unbothered by the futility of the gesture. Koa had gone silent. Neither he nor I could hear the distressing noise over the storm. Having no other recourse, we sat and waited.

When the wind's screaming finally subsided, I stretched my ears back out for steady rhythm we both had heard. To my surprise, it was still there, but frantic, erratic. And closer. Hearing the droning sound changing pitch, I leapt to my feet and reached for my coat and hat.

I knew a thing or two about storms and helicopters—the first was that they didn't mix. That bird was going down.

The muffled cacophony of impact spurred me towards the door, where Koa was eagerly bouncing, raring to go investigate as he panted and groaned through whole sentences of excitement. Grabbing his leash and my stick, I fastened each to their rightful places—my buddy's collar and my hand—and wrenched the door open.

Koa bounded ahead, no doubt already sniffing for signs of adventure, but I turned and made sure my home was securely buttoned up before letting him advance. God, it was a miserable time to be outdoors. With the whirr of the rotors gone, the roaring of the weather seemed to get louder and more menacing. I felt like I was about to be blown over or plowed into by debris any second. But the tug on the line in my hand was insistent, and my instincts pulled me forward, towards the sounds of the crash. Wet or not, I had to find out if there were any survivors.

"Come on, boy, nose 'em out," I authorized, feeling Koa lunge forward in response.

Hunching against the wet onslaught that immediately met my face, I threw my hood over my hat to help keep it on and slogged forward into the chaos behind my questing dog. We marched through the jungle for ten minutes, having to go slow to accommodate my stumbles. Jungle navigation was not my strong suit: probably not the best problem to have when I lived in one. I kept bumping into things, having to feel my way around or over the slick, sharp, or scratchy surfaces.

"I'm too old for this," I grumbled without any real heat, stepping over a log.

Finally, the scent of smoke reached my nose. Koa noticed before it did; a minute earlier he had started to bounce more or less patiently at the end of the leash, whining anxiously. I picked up the pace as much as I dared, letting him haul me along through the trees. He stopped abruptly, and I copied immediately. I had learned better than to question his judgment a long time before. He groaned indicatively, pawing the ground.

I was already feeling around cautiously with my stick as I pressed, "Got one?"

He woofed curtly and came towards me, nosing my leg from the side so I'd turn. My foot drifted forward with the shift, booted toes brushing against something soft. Immediately dropping my stick—the cord around my wrist would keep it close—I knelt in the dirt and reached down, finding the body that Koa had brought me to.

As I didn't know him from Adam and whoever it was had just been disgorged from a helicopter flying over a remote nature reserve during a terrible storm, it was reasonable for me to be suspicious. I wasn't. Koa wouldn't let me anywhere near somebody dangerous and vice versa. He'd had plenty of chances to prove that during our friendship.

"You awake?" I questioned the supine stranger, my fingers roaming for inspection. Receiving no answer, I snapped at the best authority, "He alive?"

Koa's wet nose brushed across the back of my hand as he examined our find. He grunted the affirmative, so I got down to business. The guy's arms were positioned rigidly in front of him, unnatural for someone who'd fallen. He should have been sprawling…I froze when I found out why he wasn't.

"Search for others," I ordered Koa tightly, pulling the loop of the leash off my wrist. Then I reached for the knife on my belt. I would have to use it to cut the ropes binding the man's wrists and—yep, his ankles too. Infuriated by any form of captivity, I gritted, "_Guard_, Koa."

A grave rumble emitted from my friend's chest as he heeded the warning. Taking the cord out of my hand with his mouth to avoid snagging, the animal loped discretely off into the wind-whipped forest. I could picture him in my head: wolfish head hung low, shepherd-shaped body slinking through the forest. Knowing he was more than competent for the search and able to take care of any…issues that might arise, I directed my focus back to patient zero.

It was a man, lying on his back. He was unresponsive even as I cut his ties, so something had to be wrong. Feeling through the baggy clothes that were obviously too large for him, though, I could find nothing amiss on his arms, torso, or legs.

The head was a different story. Encountering the blood on his temple, I cursed and gentled my touch, making sure that there were no other gashes. It was just the one. That could still be more than enough. I kept up a steady litany of oaths under my breath as I switched to checking the man's vitals.

I hated head wounds. There were just too many things that could go wrong.

Koa returned with barely a rustle as I was noting the steady, if not entirely strong, pulse under my fingers. Pleased but hardly satisfied, I turned my face towards the approaching ally. He hadn't alerted, so I figured the results on his search were nil.

"None or dead?" I inquired, not needing to elaborate. I wasn't much for chatter, and the storm was so loud that full sentences would get wiped out anyway.

Koa groaned an affirmative and dropped his leash into my waiting palm. I looped it around my wrist again. Then I had to grab onto my hat and hood as an especially strong blast swooped through the trees.

I took the moment to think. There was likely at least one other occupant in the helicopter when it went down, since a bound man would have some difficulty flying, even with a joystick. Having always preferred to side with the underdog, I wasn't that worried about the health of someone who had put bonds on another human being. Unless they were handcuffs or a jail cell, which indicated police involvement, I hated all forms of confinement.

And bad weather.

Scowling, I hunched over the prone form beneath me and winced when some sticks and a branch bounced off my back. They would have peppered the man instead, had I not blocked them. I'd have done it again and more if it meant keeping the guy breathing, but I grumbled about the inconvenience anyway out of habit. It _was_ nice to know I still had the instinct for predicting the jungle's mayhem.

Regardless, I'd definitely had enough for one night.

"All right. Stick," I ordered, handing off the walking aid to Koa without looking.

My dog took it in his mouth without a whisper—animals never complained when it counted. After a lifetime of dealing with self-absorbed peons, it was a beautiful thing to have a partner that just shut up and got the job_ done_.

Taking one last survey to make sure Humpty Dumpty's neck and torso were intact, I scooped him up into a fireman's carry with a grunt and several cuss words. The guy was no lightweight, and I was no spring chicken. As per usual with my endeavors, the odds weren't favorable.

Also normal: I didn't give a rat's ass. I lacked plenty in physical strength, but that was made up for with obstinacy. I had enough in me to get back to the cabin.

I just hoped the muscle-bound sack of potatoes on my back could say the same.

Shouldering my burden, I swayed against the wind while I got adjusted. My hold had to be secure. The body draped over me was deadweight, pure and simple; the arms swung as if boneless in the wind. Its position was hardly aerodynamic. Still, it would accomplish what it had to. I turned to face where Koa was pulling me.

"Home."

My mutt trotted towards the goal sedately. Letting the tug of the leash on my arm guide me forward, I moved cautiously through the storm and jungle, ever mindful of the extra limbs and head I'd sprouted. Koa was equally prudent. Despite a few close calls, we got back to the clearing without further incident.

I sighed in relief when the door swung in under my grip, pushing through into the warmth. Koa's wet fur brushed against my leg as he threaded in beside me, making a beeline for the rug in front of the still-crackling fire in the potbelly stove. Rolling my eyes as he shook the excess water out of his coat, I crossed over to the bed—it was more of a cot, really, but I had never been picky—and bent creakingly over the mattress.

Once the unconscious stranger had been deposited on the blankets, I went quickly over to the sink, shedding my soaked outer garments as I went. Scrubbing my hands in the water from the cistern, I grabbed the first aid kit and turned back to my new charge. It was the work of moments to drag the side table and a chair to the bedside.

Setting the kit down on the surface beside me, I touched the cold, wet cloth covering the man's chest and frowned. The goosebumps and shivering would have to go.

"Blankets and towels," I rattled off, rummaging in the kit for antiseptic, gauze, and all the other supplies I'd need to dress the head wound.

Koa bustled around behind me, nosing through trunks and shelves after what I'd asked for. Used to him doing that sort of thing, I bent over the blood-covered skull on my pillow. We worked in companionable silence as the island squall bellowed its fury outside the walls.

* * *

**Who fell out of the helicopter? Why was he tied up? What's going on?!**

**Oh, wait. I know that already. I wrote it.**

**Thoughts?**


	33. Stranded, part two

**And time wears on at the cabin...**

* * *

By the next morning, our guest was sleeping peacefully, in fresh—although equally ill-fitting—clothes and snugly insulated by every blanket I owned. His head was covered by bandages, but no other problems had presented themselves besides a few shallow scratches. As long as he woke up lucid, he should be well enough to last until I could figure how to ship him to a hospital.

I didn't think about what would happen if he didn't wake up.

I busied myself with making breakfast. It was odd, measuring for a third party to a meal. Hopefully there'd be someone conscious to imbibe it. While I puttered around, Koa took up watch at the head of the bed, dropping his jaw down two inches to rest on the mattress beside one of its occupant's ears. He'd let me know if anything changed.

I'd just pulled everything off the stove when he groaned warningly. Setting the hot pot down on a towel so it wouldn't burn my wooden counter, I went over, scooted the chair out of arm's reach, and dropped into it. The bedding made soft sounds as it shifted; Sleeping Beauty was coming around. It took another minute for the show to really start, though. I waited for the telltale intake of breath that always seemed to precede the flutter of eyelids after unconsciousness. For injured people, I could be eternally patient.

That was about the only time.

Beside me, Koa remained silent and watchful, body perked at attention. Neither of us moved. Unless my perceptive dog told me otherwise, I was content to let our mystery man wake up on his own terms. Eventually, the shifting turned into real movement. His breathing changed even more; he prepared to speak.

"Wh…?"

I let him work some of the gravel out of his throat and a bit of the fuzziness out of his head, remaining silent. As I'd expected, his second attempt at verbalization was slightly more coherent.

"Where…?"

"In a bed." Useless wit. I couldn't resist.

"Who?" The pillow squished as his head swiveled to the side, and he moaned weakly.

I was instantly on alert, teasing forgotten. "Your head too bad? Can you see me?"

"Y-yeah. Hurts a little. Neck's…sore. Who're you?" As his voice gained strength, he started to move in earnest, pulling his arms out from under the blankets. "Where am I? What happened?"

"Slow down and hold up, kid." I reached out and placed a firm hand on his shoulder before he got any ideas about actually getting on his feet.

At my touch, he paused, half propped up on his elbows. I could feel the muscles—there were a lot of them—tensing under my hand. He was a big guy, and built like someone who knew how to throw his weight around. I knew the type. Normally, he probably would have went rigid and threw me as soon as I leaned in, but taking a dive out of a helicopter had a way of rattling a few screws loose. I just had to figure out which ones needed re-tightening.

"Arty Kemp," I answered succinctly. "You're in my cabin, Mamalahoa Forest Reserve, Kauai. Helicopter crashed."

He relaxed back onto his elbows, apparently deep in thought.

"I don't remember," he admitted. The wrap on his head made a soft scratching noise when he reached up to touch the bruise he probably felt like a jackhammer in his skull. There was a frown in his voice as he fiddled with the fabric and demanded, "What's—"

"Don't," I warned him, grabbing the offending arm and pulling it down firmly to his chest. "I just spent all night cleaning you up. I'm in not fixing whatever you wreck taking stock."

My grip on his forearm drew his attention to the gauze on his wrists. "I was tied up," he observed, his voice darkening further. I could feel suspicion creep into his posture. He tensed up again and leaned away, readying for conflict. "Why? By who? What's going on?"

Koa growled at the man's threatening demeanor, finally making an entrance into the conversation. The man stilled, but I let go of his arm anyway so I could cross mine over my chest. Screw bedside manner.

Scowling at him, I shot back, "Why don't _you_ tell _me_? You're the one who fell out of the sky trussed up like a pig at a luau. What's _your_ name? What're _you_ doing _here_?"

There was a long silence. "I…don't remember."

"So you've said." Expression lessoning to a troubled frown, I sought clarification. "What's missing? How you got here?"

"No," he muttered, sounding perplexed and frustrated. He was winding up tighter by the second, fists clenching in the covers. "Any of it. I can't remember a damned thing." Bedsprings creaked as he looked up suddenly, the vexation in his voice losing headway against mounting dismay.

"I don't even know my name."

Well, that was one way to set an old man back on his heels. Leaning back in my chair, I processed the revelation, rubbing my scarred, knotted hands over the tops of my thighs. _Damn head wounds_.

"Can you tell me what day it is?" I prodded. "How old you are?"

"I…no. There's nothing. I can't." He was flustered. Angry. Probably scared, though I wasn't much for detecting the nuances of emotion.

I pursed my lips. Well, if the head wanted to be stubborn…

"All right." Slapping my knees, I stood up, tromping over to the pot I'd abandoned.

Making the bed springs squeak again as he twisted to watch me go, he demanded incredulously, "All _right_?"

I shrugged, ladling the soup I'd made into bowls. "I can't fix a head, son," I confessed simply, setting a vessel with mostly meat and noodles down on the hearth rug for Koa. "What about the rest of you? Do you feel dizzy? Any nausea or pain?"

"N-no," he replied, obviously having trouble shifting gears. "Neck's a little off, like I stretched it too far. Then it's…just a headache. Feels more like a bruise."

Nodding, I grunted my approval of the evaluation. Like any normal person, he probably felt inclined to spend more time absorbing the fact that _he_ _had amnesia_, but I knew I had nothing for it and would rather deal with practical matters. Remonstrations came after all possible assessments and solutions. I could scrounge up something for his neck, ice or a heat pack, and I had some mild meds for the aches. The rest was out of my hands.

Turning back towards him, I returned to the chair by the bed and set the bowl down on the table. Realizing that he was still propped up and coiled for action, I threatened matter-of-factly, "Lay down and stay down, or I'll have Koa sit on you." Koa woofed his support for emphasis. "You might feel fine, but it's up to a doctor to say whether or not you're okay to be up and about."

He didn't make a move to comply. "I _don't_ feel fine. I can't remember who I am, what I'm doing here, or anything else, for that matter! I'm gonna find out."

Throwing the blankets off his legs, he pushed himself into a full sitting position and placed his bare feet on the ground. Exactly what I'd told him _not_ to do.

Knowing that I was in no shape to stop him, I sat quietly in my chair, grousing inwardly about the delusional invincibility complex of youth. My concern was only mild, however, and mostly focused on the hope that he'd keep the damage minimal when the inevitable played out.

It didn't take long.

Hastily levering himself to his feet, my tall visitor took a quick, purposeful stride towards the door.

...And promptly nosedived onto the floorboards.

Koa barked, at once chiding and alarmed. I didn't share his anxiety. I knew a thick skull when I met one. A less-than-graceful landing wouldn't do that one much harm. Turning in my chair, I slung my elbow casually over the backrest and waited for him to push himself up on his forearms with a pained grunt.

"Having trouble?"

He laughed, short and humorless, as he shakily got his knees under him. "I think I just set off a grenade in my brain."

Standing, I stooped and helped him lay back down on the bed. Then I snapped my fingers and made a sweeping motion towards him with the same hand. Koa was on the bed in a bound, laying lengthwise on top of him.

"Hey!" he exclaimed in alarm, probably trying to push the dog off, but Koa was heavy, he was weak, and my dog knew how to trap peoples arms between his forelegs.

"I warned you," I pointed out mildly. "He'll keep you in bed."

To emphasize that, Koa settled and yawned, snapping his teeth together with an audible click. The man under him subsided. "Duly noted."

He was obviously still reeling from the hammers in his skull. Chuckling at his strangled voice, I patted his knee in brisk comfort. "Headaches are a bitch, huh?"

He groaned and laid his skull carefully back onto the pillow. Massaging his uninjured temple with one hand, he groused, "Smug bastard."

"Only when I'm right," I agreed affably. I was not above saying _I told you so_.

That didn't mean I wasn't sympathetic. Pulling out the little bottle that I had appropriated from the med kit before I put it away, I tipped out two pills into my palm and held them out to him with the glass of water I already had waiting on the table.

"Danny."

I froze. That was out of place. He said it as though he didn't know what to make of it. Was he remembering?

Nothing followed the single uttered word, though, so I propped my elbows on my knees and leaned forward. "Who's Danny? Is that your name?"

"…No. Not mine," he murmured, more to himself than me. "More important. I think…he's…family?" My touchy cot groaned as he shook his head and immediately flinched. His voice consequently mangled by discomfort, he gasped out, "He'll be looking for me."

"Well, that's a relief," I remarked dryly. On his chest, Koa rumbled in the same wry tone.

Even if "Danny," whoever he was, knew where my guest was headed, he'd need a few tricks up his sleeve to get to us. The reserve was so big that it would take ages to search. My house was over a series of thermal vents that played havoc with scanning equipment of all kinds, and the helicopter had crashed, from what I could tell, in a clearing and then slid under the trees. It was not going to be easy to get ahold of us…unless we helped.

But again, that was something that could wait another minute. Straightening up, I reoffered my burdens. "While your brother consults his Ouija board, take this. It's just aspirin. Shouldn't give you a reaction, but it'll lessen the pain a bit." Before he took them, though, I added the caveat, "Unless you want to use it first."

He was still distracted by his moment of clarity, but that got his notice quickly enough. "You mean to clear my head?"

I smiled, setting the pills and water back down. I'd been half expecting a bewildered _huh_? Maybe the youngster had a good head on his shoulders after all. Nodding, I shared blandly, "Never thought through a tough spot without getting a dent in my hide first."

He was quiet for a moment, didn't pursue the statement. _Good_.

"Did I…have any identification on me? Were _these_ my clothes?"

Koa had gradually moved down to his lap as he continued to behave. With his upper body free by then, the man shifted, inspecting the old shirt and long pants I had scrounged up for him. They were from the time before I'd lost the better part of my physique, so they fit him more or less well. I was shorter than he was, though. His ankles were exposed.

"No," I answered curtly, jerking a thumb over my shoulder. A plastic trash bag leaned against the far wall, bulging with its contents. "The things I found you in fit even worse. I packaged them up for you in case somebody wants to take a look at them once you get back to civilization. Nothing in the pockets."

"Take a look?" he echoed. I could practically hear the gears turning in his head as the implications of what I'd shared sunk in. Undoubtedly, he was drawing more information from his senses as well, bruises or aches that he hadn't mentioned and I hadn't detected. At last, he summarized darkly. "I wasn't in my own clothes. I had no wallet or I.D., and my hands were tied."

"And you fell out of a helicopter flying low over the jungle in the middle of a huge storm," I added helpfully. To give him a further hint, I provided, "Under the radar. When no one would sanely pursue you or be out to see you."

His wrist bandage scraped over the stubble on his cheeks as he rubbed his face. Ringing slightly less lost and frustrated than before, his voice still growled a bit when he demanded of the room, "Who the hell am I and how did that get me kidnapped?"

"Or captured." Some occupations dealt in conflict. That got people taken for a whole different set of reasons than kidnapping.

Having no further input to offer, I stood again. While divining the answers to his questions was beyond both of us for the moment, there were still pills, water, and soup waiting for him to tuck away. It was important for him to get fluids in, especially since I didn't know what he'd been through or what shape he was in on the inside.

"We'll work on it, but for now you've got a different job to do," I told him, not unkindly. "Heal."

Grabbing the pile of folded blankets standing by, I went to the head of the bed. He leaned forward without being asked; I propped him up with them and set the pillow on top. Once he was more or less sitting upright without using his muscles to do so, I lifted the table and set it as close to the bed as it would go.

Figuring that he'd be hungry enough not to argue, I rapped my knuckles on the wooden top to draw his attention and commanded, "Fuel up."

Then I left him to it. Assured that he was being good by the sound of the metal spoon clinking against the bowl behind me, I turned to Koa instead, who was curled up next to the man's legs in a show of good faith. Once he slapped his tail on the coverlet in a friendly wag to show he was paying heed to me, I walked over to the wall beside the bed. When I opened the front door, he dismounted from the squeaking cot and trotted over immediately.

"Guard, Koa," I instructed him, sending him on his way into the outdoors.

I received only a small farewell moan as he loped by. He would stay close and keep an eye out, the perfect sentinel: invisible and deadly.

I was taking precautions for a reason. Since somebody had gone to the trouble of going after our guest in the first place, it was safe to assume that they'd care enough to come looking for him. If they got to us before the authorities I planned on alerting, I didn't imagine we'd enjoy it.

* * *

**Aw. It's not a Danny whump story. I tried, I really did. It's just...the plot bunnies... *hangs head in shame***

**I am powerless against them.**

**How's it going so far?**


	34. Stranded, part three

**All right, enough Domesticity. Where are the 'splosions? (tiny cousin word for "explosion," ye non-child speakers).**

* * *

Closing and locking the door behind my mutt, I went over to a chest in the corner of the room and hauled the thick lid open. Fully aware that the man eating on the bed was watching my every move, I picked through the chest's contents with purpose.

The first object I wanted was right on top in its case; I took it out, assembled it fluidly, and tucked it in one of my vest's large pockets. What I was after next was tucked beneath everything else in the box.

_Typical_.

It would probably alarm certain people that I used it less than the first thing I'd grabbed, but I wasn't much for convention. That's why my chest was so full. The receptacle housed almost all of the technology I owned, which still wasn't much. As a self-prescribed hermit, I didn't use a lot besides cooking and weather conveniences—namely, a stove and radio. Anything else was useless to me.

Light came into my one-room cabin through four windows that pierced the east and west-facing walls. Heat, if needed, emanated from the wood burning stove. Water came from a cistern that a ranger friend—I had to be on _somebody's_ good side, to be able to squat on a forest reserve for over ten years—had given me a purification system for. Other possible essentials, as far as modern devices were concerned, I stored in the chest.

Like a satellite phone.

Finding it at last, I dug it out with a sigh. Opening the protective box I kept it in, I inserted the batteries that I kept in the container but not the gadget, fumbling a bit with the nodes and springs. Then I turned back and went to stand by the bed, holding the phone so I knew my houseguest could see it.

"I'm going to call for some help," I told him gruffly, already made grumpy by the need to use technology and the thought of calling attention to myself. "I know some rangers. They'll coordinate something to get you out of here and back where you belong."

"You had a phone the whole time and haven't used it yet?" he exclaimed.

He sounded a tad accusatory. I frowned. "I was a bit occupied saving your ass and making sure that goose egg on your head didn't knock you out for good," I routed him, slapping the phone in my palm in irritation. "Which could still happen, if there's a slow bleed in there or swelling. So stop whining and let's get this done before your friends from the helicopter follow up."

"Yes sir," he answered politely.

"Don't overdo it," I grumbled reflexively.

He was being respectful, not sarcastic, so I didn't grouse beyond that as I reached into my pocket and deposited the other object that I'd pulled out of the chest on the table: my battered but well-tended service weapon. Rather than expound on that, though, I reached for his empty glass and made an approving sound.

"Good. You should probably drink another. I'll fill it."

While I went over to the sink, I quelled my irritation at being addressed as though I still had a rank. Actually, the instinctive response was an added insight to him. From the way he said it, my thought earlier that he had been captured rather than kidnapped was looking quite likely.

I had a soldier on my hands. In what capacity, who knew, but there were enough clues to make me certain that he was in some way a military man. I thought about the gun I'd set down on the table beside him with more confidence.

He didn't say anything during the time it took me to fill the glass and stump back over, just set his bowl back down with a dull thud. _Thinking again_. I'd found myself a class-A brooder. I was just glad he wasn't a talker. My nerves couldn't stand blabbermouths.

"That'd better be empty," I said about the bowl, sitting down heavily at the table. Just preparing for what I was about to do made me tired. I fiddled with the SAT phone. "I'll call the ranger station, get 'em up to speed. Then I'm handing the phone to you."

"Okay." He'd sat forward again, despite my earlier warning. Young people let their excitement get to them too easily. I let the disobedience pass, having no dog to address it with and more concerned with the task at hand. I'd just keep a closer watch on him while he was exerting himself.

"Here," I muttered even more gruffly than usual thanks to my deteriorating mood, handing over the other object that always stayed in my pocket—a stopped pocket watch. "There's a mirror in the cover. Use it. And get that shirt off, check your back and front for identifying marks while I dial."

"Wait a minute," he interjected. Suddenly, the edge of suspicion was back in his voice, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came. Wonder replaced it—and knowledge. "You're blind."

_Blind_.

I'd never heard the word said without it becoming a new form of profanity. I could hear the shock in his voice, and also a little uncertainty. Before long, they would both be replaced by disgusting pity, if not worse. There was a reason I lived in seclusion.

_Damn_. The other shoe had finally dropped. I stopped and heaved a large sigh. _So much for fooling him until he was out of my hair._

I'd almost done it. In my own home, I moved with such confidence that it had delayed his grasp of the truth. Not long enough, though. He'd finally used that keen mind I sensed behind his skull and put two and two together.

Reluctantly admitting that I needed to talk to him in order to get rid of him, I offered a dark-toned rejoinder. "And you're brain damaged. Check for marks."

Although I could practically taste how nonplussed he was, he shut up and did it. There was a fair amount of shuffling around going on as I hit the memorized numbers on the keypad. By the time the tone was playing in my ear, he was twisting around where he sat, probably trying to see his back with the tiny mirror I'd given him.

"This is ranger station six, Malamahoa Forest Reserve. Can I help you?" an impartial voice intoned.

"I've got a stranger up at my shack," I reported without preamble.

The indifference was gone from the voice in an instant. Gasping, the man on the other end exclaimed, "Arty! How are you, man? We haven't heard from you in ages. How's Koa? …Wait, you said you had somebody up there?"

I was used to Shep. He was young, but goodhearted. That made his chronic attention deficit issues at least tolerable. I usually just skipped responding to half of what he said. It got us through most conversations in mutual good humor.

"He's got amnesia, no identification. Helicopter crashed out here last night during the storm and dumped him in the woods. Had his hands tied up. Only problem seems to be a bump on the head."

"I'll get Ronny." Shep exhibited rare wisdom, running off to find his senior ranger. I could hear him chattering excitedly all the way across their small office. A moment later, Ron Akana was on the phone.

"Where's he at, Art?"

Ron was the first ranger to ever find me out in my cabin. I'd been there for two years already by then, but I gave him props for it anyway. The last time I'd hid out somewhere, it had been my profession. In my prime, nobody could ever figure out where I was.

"My cot. He's lucid and mobile, except for a bitch of a headache when he changes altitudes."

"You said he was tied up in a helicopter flying last night? Kidnap, you think?"

I grunted in general agreement. "How soon can you get him out of here?"

"I've got Shep on that now," Ron assured me, ever efficient. Neither of us were men of many words. I liked him. "There are some roads down and the choppers are pretty busy with cleanup, but it won't be long before we can have a team out. We'll reach out to law enforcement, of course. I've got some questions to ask him."

Without a word, I handed the phone over to my bedridden companion. He took it gingerly. The next few minutes were filled with Ron's interview. I listened to the sound of his voice over the line, figuring out what he'd said by the answers my guest gave. It was actually a bit entertaining.

"I feel fine," the man in my cabin answered first. The phrase came off his tongue too easily. I guessed it was his automatic response to every inquiry after his health. "Just a stiff neck and headache, like he said."

A pause for a new question to be asked. "No. I can't remember."

Ron must have rephrased or moved on.

"Um, about six foot? Maybe a hundred eighty pounds? White, short brown hair, brown or greenish…hazel eyes. Ah, and there are…a lot of tattoos."

He was bemused by that, I could tell. I smiled broadly.

"Well, no. All that's come back is the name 'Danny' when Mr. Kemp was being an asshole."

Ron pressed for more while I rolled my eyes. The stranger was surprised by what the ranger said.

Startled, he replied, "What? No, he's not one of them. I think he's my brother, actually. …Or no, that's not quite… He's…something like that."

Ron was in the middle of asking more when Koa howled outside. Standing abruptly, I shoved my chair out of the way and went to the door. As I unlocked it and cracked it open, I snapped at the man on the phone, "Call's over. Tell Ron we've got bad company. If he sends help, it'd better have guns."

Koa streaked inside and I slammed the door shut. On the bed, our guest inferred on the ranger's behalf, "The guys who had me are back. We're under attack."

* * *

**Man, why haven't I blown anything up since the first chapter?**

**...I should really stop leaving Author's Notes that make it sound like I'm a split personality...**


	35. Stranded, part four

**All right. I'm putting my foot down. **

**There will be guns. And bullets. And general BAMF-ness from all main characters concerned. So THERE, plot bunnies!**

* * *

Hanging up, the stranger dropped the SAT phone on the bed and swung his legs out from under the covers, preparing to get up. Koa ushered me towards the most reinforced corner of the cabin as I listened to the other man pull his shirt back on roughly.

"The gun's for you," I informed him shortly. "See if you can use it, otherwise I'll help. You're our offense."

He didn't question or complain the assignment, just reached for the weapon. I could hear him checking the magazine and the chamber. "What kind of numbers are we looking at? Where are they coming from? How soon will they be here?"

"Soon. He'd be calmer otherwise," I translated, reading Koa like a book. "You'll have to ask him for the rest."

Despite the danger, my thoughts were on the man groaning as he got out of bed. He'd asked the right questions. His movements were quick, practiced, expert. I was right. He _was_ a soldier, whether he remembered or not.

Interrupting my musing, Koa barked sharply, bouncing up to press his front paws against my thighs. I sat down in the corner where he wanted me, waving him off with a scowl. "Go help him already," I grumbled, pissed that I was sidelined for whatever action came up. Age sucked. "I'm fine, you hen."

Unimpressed, the mutt groaned once and begrudgingly did as I asked, trotting over to the man. Learning from past mistakes, the stubborn giant had given himself a moment to acclimate to his position change before trying to walk, and it helped. Soon both man and dog were peering out the window in the wall next to the door.

Bracing his paws on the sill, Koa pointed his nose towards whatever he'd seen. The man hadn't gotten hung up on the fact that he was a dog, and Koa, for his part, never seemed to, either. Communicating just as well as any human I knew, my mutt hrr-ed and tapped his claws against the glass three times in different places, marking out the targets. He grunted twice more, but didn't point.

"There's a latch on the side closest to the door," I threw out, remembering something from when I'd installed the glass. "You can get the whole pane out of the way, if you want."

Clicking said device, he quickly slid the window out of its frame and leaned it against the side wall. Then he pushed the curtains out of the way and leaned against the wall next to the open space, looking out around the edge.

Koa growled. The man flicked off the safety and provided unnecessarily, "They're here."

As soon as he'd spoken, somebody let loose on my cabin with a semi-automatic. Swearing worse than most of the sailors I'd known, I covered my head and thought grumpily about all the patchwork I'd have to do. "How many out there, dammit?"

Koa pressed up against my side. He was almost vibrating, he was growling so loud and continuously. In answer to my question, he slapped his tail against the wall five times, herding me tighter into the corner. I remembered the taps and grunts and cursed my short-term memory.

The other man hadn't said anything. For a second, I worried that he'd frozen. Then a gunshot echoed against the walls, making me jump.

Perfectly calm, collected, and cold, my door guard quipped, "Make that four."

Then he stopped, shifted, and realized amazedly, "I just shot him. In the head. At over a hundred feet."

"Well, repeat!" I snapped, flinching away from a new deluge of bullets going through my walls. Splinters and broken crockery bounced off my arms, indicating that one of my shelves had become a casualty. "I'm too old to rebuild this place from toothpicks!"

Evidently refocused by my impatience, he fired again and let out a huff. Not a kill shot, then. Someone yelled outside, though, so at least the bullet wasn't wasted. I huddled down in my corner and willed him to go faster. B

eside me, Koa stiffened, his growl hitting a crescendo. He whirled, snarling at the wall behind him—the west one. Which had windows that would allow someone to see the man across the cabin. And then shoot him.

"Down!" I shouted, throwing myself forward and crossing the room with agility that I hadn't possessed for fifteen years.

Remaining the stubborn bastard he'd been from the start, he fired off another shot just before I reached him. That was one cool, thick head he had going for him. It probably made him a pain in the ass for anybody trying to keep him alive on a mission.

Like me.

Grabbing him around the middle, I yanked him downwards to the floor with me just as the house was sandwiched between at least two shooters on the east and west sides. The bullets split the walls at chest to waist height, judging by the way the debris was colliding with the back of my head and shoulders. Had I not acted with such alacrity, my suddenly reckless and determined gunman would have been blown in half.

As soon as we hit the floor, he rolled onto his stomach, got up onto the balls of his bare feet, and crept over to the door. Deciding to just cut my losses and stay put, I covered my head again and scooted back into the corner, hearing the door knob squeak. Cracking the entryway ajar, he fired out of it quickly and slammed it shut again.

"Two and a half."

Sitting by the bookshelf with Koa, I shook my head and scratched his rigid ears. There was paper confetti drifting down over us, but the fact that all the goddamned brail was being shredded wasn't the source of my sudden uplift in spirits.

"First shootout I haven't minded getting front row seats to," I muttered to my tense friend, chuckling a little. "This guy is an animal."

"What did you just say?" he asked suddenly, distracted.

_Shit_. "Eyes on the bullets, greenhorn!"

A fresh volley of knee-high, automatic fire had us all flattening to the boards almost before I'd finished speaking. Running steps from the west approached the house. I grimaced and grabbed Koa, shoving him behind me. If the gunner got to the window, he could shoot down at us with impunity. I was not going to let my best friend be a possible target.

Grunting as he hit the dirt—hopefully not because he was hurt—my other ally dove and rolled, coming up on one knee so he could shoot straight through the back window. Apparently, it was the only one that hadn't been shattered yet. He was good enough to fix that for me.

_Oy vey_…

A dull thud filtered through the newly broken glass. The jerky spray of bullets that ran up at an angle through the wall had me picturing a rifle-toting corpse falling back as a muscle contraction pulled the trigger.

"Sorry about the window," the other man muttered. "Latch was stuck."

Smiling wryly in spite of myself, I kept a now irritated Koa corralled behind me with an arm on each wall. "Where are the last two?"

"The one I winged is on the grass," he related, creeping over the broken glass to scan through all the windows. I thought of his unprotected feet and winced, but he didn't seem to notice. "He's not going anywhere. Last one's in the wind."

Suddenly, a bunch of bullets redecorated the wall over the bed, potbelly stove, and my counter space. Grabbing Koa and lying on my stomach to avoid the barrage from the opposite side of the room, I huffed, "Found him."

A single shot from inside punctuated my sarcasm. The rain of bullets cut off abruptly in response.

In a voice of quiet satisfaction, my guest stated, "Me, too."

* * *

**Ha. Rather short, but it's something. ** **How am I doing, guys?**


	36. Stranded, part five

**I do believe this is the last of it.**

**I'd just like to thank all those who have read and reviewed and generally rocked for me and this fic. I really couldn't be luckier with the people I have here. Thank you, Thank you, Thank you.**

**And on to the finish line!**

* * *

The sudden silence was deafening. Lying down next to me, Koa perked up and raised his head, ears framing the hand that I had protecting his skull. Taking my other arm away from where it was guarding my own neck and head, I propped my chin on my hand.

Wonderingly, I guessed, "You just shot him through the wall blind, didn't you?"

He stood up from his knees, pants tinkling as they shed bits of glass. All of a sudden, he lost the businesslike air of purpose that had carried him through the firefight and seemed baffled. "…Yeah. I did."

Then he walked over towards me. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and before I knew it he'd hauled me to my feet like I was nothing. I shook my head. "You're something else, kid."

He laughed, apparently having composed himself on the way over. "I shot one guy sight unseen, and you've carved out an entire life here for yourself without ever being able to look at it. Who were you calling impressive, again?"

I did crack a smile at that. Giving him my best stern look to counteract the slip, I dangled my hand at my side for Koa. He nuzzled it, hrr-ing happily and reassuring me of his health. He was fine. I released a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding.

The taller man headed towards the front of the house and opened the door. Since he was obviously going to make sure that all enemies were neutralized, I inclined my head towards the small box sitting next to the door.

"There's rope in there for the live one."

"Thanks. Be right back."

He slipped out, and my mind went to cleanup. I'd have to sweep up the glass before he walked back in and cut up his feet more than he already had. Taking a step towards the place where I kept the broom, I was stopped by a low moan. Koa pressed against my leg and rumbled, so I nudged my foot ahead carefully.

The chair knocked over in front of me would have made for an unpleasant surprise. Setting it upright, I scowled. Until everything was back in its place, I'd have to rely on my houseguest and Koa more than I'd expected. With my dog glued to my hip, I managed to get to the broom without mishap and started sweeping, guided by the sound of the shards clinking together and Koa's occasional groan.

The man reentered a minute later and put the rope back in its box. The one he'd "winged" hadn't made it, then. Not pausing in my sweeping, I nodded my head in the direction of the middle table. "Is that still standing?"

He turned in a circle, surveying the total damage. "Yeah. Everything but a few wall shelves, your windows, and the actual sides of your house looks pretty good."

"Wonderful."

I pushed him towards the nearest chair. I'd already set the first aid kit on the table when I grabbed the broom, and there was a bowl of water and clean linens waiting there as well. After ten years on my own, I was accustomed to the ways of personal medical treatment. I imagined he probably was also, to some degree.

"Then sit. I'll sweep, you check for cuts."

He sat. I swept. For a while, the cabin was blessedly silent.

"My name is Steve," he shared conversationally.

I paused. Then I kept on sweeping. "What else do you remember?"

"Mostly that I've spent a long time with this," he murmured darkly. I'd forgotten he still had my gun with him. "The rest's still just pieces, otherwise."

"Well, improvement's good," I declared gruffly, sweeping my pile into the dustpan Koa held still for me. "Some quack with a big paycheck will say otherwise, but you're on the mend."

He chuckled and kept working. "Look, I'm sorry about your house. I have a feeling I can pay for it, or get somebody else to pay for it, if you want—"

"I'm squatting illegally in a forest reserve," I pointed out dryly, finishing with one half of the room by Koa's estimation. I switched over to the other side. "Whoever you work for isn't going to pony up to keep me in business." I patted Koa on the head as he passed. "Maybe it's time we moved on, found a new place."

He shifted to face me, maybe planning to argue, but the strident sounds of an engine revving made us both freeze. I heard a bullet ratchet into the chamber behind me, but Koa wasn't growling. I didn't tense up the way the ma—Steve did, instead waving him off. From the way my mutt was groaning out full sentences of interest, the company we had coming would be of the annoying variety rather than the dangerous.

Several dirt bikes broke through the forest into my clearing. I sighed. The rangers loved dirt bikes. "Calm down. They're friends."

To back me up, two of the bikes cut off abruptly and the sound of running footsteps could be heard.

"Steve! You in there?"

"Boss!"

Rising up from the table, my visitor followed his name out the door onto the grass. The other bikes parked, and soon there was a sea of voices crashing over each other outside. There were four unnamed people with the rangers I knew. Three of them—two men and a woman—spoke to Steve like they knew each other, asking after his health and generally being familiar. From the sound of it, they worked together on a team. Probably in some sort of law enforcement capacity, going by the way they just accepted the presence of corpses on the lawn.

It was a happy reunion. Naturally disinclined to such things, I didn't move to participate in it, standing by my table and frowning at the ruckus. Koa moaned supportively at my side, bumping his nose into my leg. A friendly soul, he wanted to go visit, but he wouldn't leave me. I scratched his ears and nudged him forward. "Just go. Be a dog. Make some friends."

He trotted out eagerly. I resumed sweeping.

I had worked my way to the back corner by my cooking space by the time Koa returned. A perfunctory knock on the door frame behind me told me I was no longer being ignored by my fellow humans, either.

_Damn_.

At least it was just Steve. "Um, I just wanted to thank—"

"Did I miss any glass?" I was _not_ one for displays of sensitivity, even gratitude.

"…I'll look." He padded inside.

I took the opportunity to listen to his footsteps; he was definitely tender from some sort of foot damage. Sighing, I went to the door, pushing him back down into a chair as I passed. Thankfully, he complied easily with the pressure on his shoulder. Evidently he'd decided not to be pig-headed for the time being. I doubted that would last when I revealed that I wanted him checked out by a medical professional and then sent to a hospital.

Leaning on my broom in the doorway, I sensed people standing close by and hoped they'd be useful to that end.

"What happened here?" Shep wondered bewilderedly, probably staring at my bullet-riddled house. Or one of the bodies.

"You arrived late." No, he wasn't what I was looking for. Turning to the other person there, I frowned. "Don't suppose _you_ feel like being helpful?"

"What? Oh, yeah, sure." He—one of the new arrivals I didn't know—came forward.

"Got a medic with you?"

"Yeah." He must have waved one over, because he didn't elaborate beyond that. Then he walked closer. "What'd that goof do now?"

"Got his shoes stolen," I muttered, having to smooth away a smile as I stepped aside and waved into the cabin. "Then he played soldier on broken glass."

A gusty sigh followed my pronouncement. The next thing I knew, my house was bursting with angry words.

"Idiot," the man accused Steve tetchily, going over to him. All of a sudden, he was in a full-blown fit of pique. "Why can't you sit still and blubber like normal amnesiacs? A hundred miles into the middle of nowhere and you still find a gun and somebody to shoot at you. And you've gotten yourself hurt again. Just _once_, I'd like to be able to believe you when you say you're fine. No, wait, that's ruined forever. _I_ can still remember the three million times you've tried to call a bullet wound a scratch."

A little taken aback, I wondered when they'd come out with verbal grenades. The guy was lethal.

The medic brushed past me as he headed over to the table. That shook me out of my reverie. I went to put away the broom, though I was still unable to stop listening to the long-winded tirade getting dumped on the injured man at the table. I was beginning to suspect I'd met Danny.

"And really? Amnesia? You must be bored of telling me everything about you is classified. What new ways can you come up with to avoid answering personal questions?"

Ron came to the doorway; he had a limp that I could always identify. I'd been leaning on the wall next to the entryway, so he paused at the threshold and murmured to me, "Whenever he comes up for air, tell him his team is calling in a forensics squad to process the area. How many bodies are we looking for?"

"Five," I muttered back, raising an eyebrow at the rather large vocabulary being interspersed throughout the ranting. Steve finally objected to something his friend—I still got the feeling they were friends, even though the new guy seemed to express affection through shouting—said, which earned him a new wave of reprimands. "Who the hell are these guys?"

"Trouble," Ron imparted dryly. "At least, they are if you're on the wrong side of the law. Meet Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett, Navy Reserves, and his partner Detective Danny Williams, New Jersey transplant. They've been raising hell on Oahu for a while with a new task force the governor set up. Your boy there, McGarrett, runs the show."

"That why his buddy's been yelling at him the whole time?" I jabbed, smiling in spite of myself as the two men argued over the back of the hapless medic. Interested by the dynamic, I shared quietly, "Steve woke up thinking they were brothers."

"Well, they're close enough," entered a new voice.

I didn't jump at the unexpected contribution, but I frowned fiercely. It was the other man I'd pegged as Steve's teammate—the less talkative one. I hadn't heard him come over. He was one quiet son of a bitch. I never got snuck up on. Almost made my skin crawl to find someone that could do it.

Maintaining his usual unruffled calm, Ron made the introductions. "Art, meet Officer Chin Ho Kelly—"

"Hey cuz! I found the bossman's cell in one of their pockets!" a female voice rushed out, its owner jogging in our direction.

"—and his cousin, Kono Kalakaua," the seasoned ranger finished blandly.

Hearing the raised voices inside as she came up to us, the woman chuffed out a laugh. "Well, didn't take long for them to get back into the swing of things, did it?"

The quiet man made a noise of assent. "Help me calm them down before one of them gives the medic more work to do."

They moved into the house, murmuring to their teammates while Ron and I observed. It was impossible not to pick up on the aura of camaraderie and caring running between them. The four of them seemed to an intangible field of influence around themselves.

"Just a task force, huh?" I muttered to Ron.

He shrugged, swooshing the collar of his leather jacket up to his ears. "Officially, at least."

I scoffed, shaking my head. That's what their unit may have started out as, but I knew what happened after a group of people did their kind of work together for a long enough time. The men I'd served with back in 'Nam had taken on the same significance for me—boys flung together by chance and held together by whatever bonds we could forge between us.

I frowned and squashed down the sigh mysteriously welling up in my throat. It would have come out dangerously sad sounding. I refocused. Time and hardship had robbed me of those brothers, over the years, but Steve and his team were young, their situation different. If they played their cards right, they could preserve the family they'd found with each other.

I found myself smiling as I listened to them bicker and chat, enjoying each other despite the debacle they'd gone through and the trouble still looming over their heads. Steve had stolen Kalakaua's badge and was pretending he didn't know her, horribly mispronouncing her name as he read it off the shield while the others laughed.

Koa sat down beside me to watch, panting and rumbling happily. The girl made a grab for the badge and ended up climbing all over her "boss" trying to get it while he laughed and held it away.

They were so _loud_. Pushing aside all notions of nostalgia, I shook my head, crossing my arms grumpily. A hermit could only be expected to endure so much.

"Shouldn't you be shipping him to a hospital?" I asked the room pointedly.

"No, it's fine," Steve interjected hurriedly, forgetting his game of keep-away. "I'm _fine_."

There was a moment of quiet in which everyone with a set of working eyes swiveled around to stare at the unmistakably injured commander. He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a five year old whining and fidgeted in his seat. "Oh, come on. It's not that bad."

"You're going, Steven!" his partner-best friend-brother snapped. Williams rustled a lot when he talked. I figured he used his hands like an Italian.

"Don't give me that look!"

"But Danny…"

"No buts!"

By then, their two teammates were quietly having a giggle fit off to the side.

"Aw, c'mon, Danno," Steve kept pleading. "Have a heart."

His tone made me think of Koa when he was still a happy-go-lucky, impossible-to-say-no-to pup. I shook my head in disgust.

"It's like dealing with children," I grumbled under my breath. Detective Williams said the same thing at exactly the same time.

That only made the rest of them laugh harder.

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**And...done. *whew***

**What did you think, guys? How'd it go?**

**Thank you again for reading!**


	37. Dining and Driving

**I saw the story stats and had a complete spaz attack. My dog is looking at me like she wants to have me committed, but I don't care. **

**15,000+ views! Over a hundred reviews! That's _triple_ digits! **

**Oh my goodness, thank you all so much! So much! I don't—I can't—this is so—AAAAHH! **

**Okay. *deep breath* **

**Sorry about that. I've been typing again. Big surprise, I know. I don't know how I'm going to top my last story, but here's a little something that I used to work off some excess excitement (Obviously, it didn't really work *eheh*).**

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**Disclaimer: H50 does not belong to me. You know what else doesn't belong to me? The moon. Why do all the songs and cheesy movies have lines about promising someone the moon and then fail to deliver? **

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It wasn't unusual to see hikers come in to the diner. When the door chime jingled, I barely looked up from the table I was clearing. All I took the time to notice was the mud-spattered jeans and general disarray of the two people before going back to work. They went to a corner booth and sat down; Meredith bustled over a minute later to play waitress.

Rolling my eyes at her bubbly welcome, I took my bucket of dirty dishes back to the kitchen to put in the washer. The lunch crowd had just cleared out and the dinner rush had yet to start, so it was blessedly quiet in the small—but popular—diner. Only a few regulars and the two newcomers were there.

By the time I came back out with an empty bucket, Meredith was on her way back into the kitchen. She flounced past me without looking, bumping my shoulder on purpose. I gritted my teeth and didn't react. Meredith had wanted me to ask her out the year before, just after we'd both returned home after graduating college.

I hadn't. First of all, she was pretty but a royal pain in the ass, and second, she only wanted to make her regular boyfriend jealous. Since I was neither a two-hundred pound construction worker like he was nor suicidal, I'd decided to toe around that hornet's nest.

Unfortunately, while that choice had saved my future as a living, breathing individual, it had invited a wealth of irritation onto my plate. I just wished I wasn't so strapped for cash. Then I could stop working at Meredith's dad's diner and get as far away from her as humanely possible for the rest of my tenure in our tiny home town.

I was distracted from my brooding by the devil-in-pigtails herself when she reemerged from the back. Since I was safely out of her path, cleaning a booth along the front wall, she traversed the room without stepping on my foot. Instead, she stopped on her way to bring someone coffee to gush something nauseatingly saccharine to a regular at the bar.

She was one of those disgusting, pink-confection girly girls that most people thought were fake. Well, truth be told, they _were_ fake, but sadly not in the nonexistent sense.

A phone ringing made me jump. The two people in the booth next to where I was working stopped their quiet conversation. I peeked over at them as the man pulled out his phone and put it in the center of the table. I could only see the back of his dark, curly head, but he and the pretty young woman sitting across him were both dirty and bedraggled. Two hiking backpacks sat on the floor at the end of their booths. I thought I even saw blood on the man's collar—was he hurt? Nevertheless, his tone was bright and her face relaxed as he put the call on speaker for the both of them to hear.

"Hey, Danny. Howzit on your end?"

Well and truly eavesdropping by then, I pointed my nose at the stain I was scrubbing and listened as a man answered the question over the speakers.

"Great. Wonderful. When we _finally_ got into work this morning, Hardy and Knowlton confessed in interrogation. I got full statements out of both of them—once I'd gotten them to stop blubbering after a session with our esteemed leader, that is. Don't ask how that went, because he can't talk and I don't want to tell you."

Then he seemed to get sidetracked, supposedly talking to someone that I couldn't see. He didn't sound pleased.

"Hey. You, with the damned cargoes. What are you smiling for? Do you know how much work I have to do to clean up after you've gone all Guantanamo on somebody? Stop smirking."

The man and the woman were grinning reflexively as the caller directed his ire at the unknown person with him. Heck, even I was fighting down a bemused smile, and I was a professional, poker-faced snoop.

"So I guess you kept your appointment after all," the woman surmised. She sounded delighted at the mentioned man's expense. "Wait, did the doc say no _talking_?"

"Yeah." Danny sounded incredibly smug. "For three days, Steven is to be scot free of any mutterings, grumblings, mumblings, and all other manner of utterings while he rests and stays on a strict meds-and-sleep regimen. Doctor's orders: the lion sleeps tonight."

"Lucky it wasn't you, brah," the dark-haired man in the booth observed. "Would have been a death sentence."

In the diner, they both laughed.

The caller sighed long-sufferingly. "The appreciation I get around here… Steve, take your foot off the gas pedal. We will get there much faster if you don't wrap us around a tree."

Once again, the man on the phone refocused abruptly, barely pausing for air between the chastizement and his next topic.

"Sorry. The Neanderthal is overzealous today. We've got a lead on Riley from one of the punks in lockup, heading there now. You?"

"We just got into town from the cabin," the man reported.

Meredith finally had her fill of fished-for compliments at the counter and came over to do her job. As he was distracted by the phone call, the dark-haired man barely nodded as she filled their coffees with a silent flourish and blinding smile, as usual. Actually, only the woman took the time to look at her and give her a brief upturn of the lips in return. Then they both turned back to the phone.

Unused to being brushed off so easily, Meredith stood there stupidly for a second longer. I could practically see the rusty gears grinding behind her shining blond scalp as she tried to figure out why she hadn't at least gotten the admiring glances that she was used to preening under. I thought it was gross that she sought attention from every single person that came into the place. _She_ seemed to think it necessary for her survival. Although, going by what I knew of her Alaska-sized ego, that might not be far off.

Obviously coming up with no reasonable answer for her patron's slight, she snapped her lip gloss slathered lips together and spun around on her heel. Not quite stomping away, she rushed past me on her way to the kitchen and made sure to swing her hip into my back just as I straightened up with my full box of dishes.

I managed not to slam it back down onto the tabletop, but only just. Despite my best efforts, a small clatter erupted from within it as my carefully stacked burdens were scrambled. I grimaced and decided to just fix it in the kitchen. For once, I gave in and called Meredith a few of the names she deserved in my head.

My thighs were gonna bruise. I'd been bending at the waist, and her shove had slammed me forward into the edge of the table. She was just lucky I was tall enough that my hips were clear, or I may not have been able to keep up my charade of being a gentleman.

At the sound my dishes made, the woman looked up. Her dark eyes were keen and intelligent as she saw me standing upright a second time and Meredith huffily retreating. It wasn't rocket science to put two and two together. From the way her lips pursed when she looked at Meredith, she'd gotten five. Then her gaze slid back to me.

_Crud_.

I didn't do well with attention—especially from beautiful females. Blushing at the knowing look on that pretty face, I turned to hastily follow Meredith into the back. Enduring the viper I knew was more or less preferable to floundering in front of the angel I didn't.

As I took the first step to flee, my ears drifted back to the man, who was still talking. "—HPD has it secured, and the forensics team is in there right now. Manu wasn't there. There were clear signs that he'd been staying there, but we couldn't track him down."

Breaking back into the conversation, the woman hypothesized, "Maybe he found out we were coming and rabbited." She frowned. "There wasn't any sign of where he went, though. His truck was there, and the rains this morning wiped out any sort of trail he left behind. At this point, only you or a bloodhound would have a hope of tracking him, boss."

"Don't encourage him," Danny's voice cut in, stalling whatever reply the fourth and as yet silent member of the group would have made. "Great, he's smirking again. No. Don't look at me. You're still in trouble. Chin, Kono, find out if Manu's got any other places in the area, any friends, you know the drill. See if he could have gone somewhere close."

"We've already checked," the man imparted. "Apparently, Manu was a loner. He's only owned property in the area a year, and the cabin's not his full-time residence. No one seems to know much about him."

"What about Frank Hills?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. I had been going back to the kitchen at a death-marching turtle's pace, but a wave of mortification at my outburst nearly spurred me into a run.

The woman's voice stopped me. "Who?"

Jumping, I turned back to the booth guiltily, seeing that both of its occupants were now staring in my direction. Flushing about as red as my pale complexion could go—really, really red—I stared down at the bucket in my hands to avoid meeting their eyes.

"Frank Hills," I mumbled, slowly walking back over to them. There was no getting out of there without telling them, after my slip. Setting my burden down on a table out in the middle space, I stood at the end of the counter and fidgeted under the weight of their combined brown gazes. "He's kinda…I mean, sorry, but he's basically the village idiot," I explained. "His property is next to Owen's—you're talking about Owen Manu, right? They come in here together sometimes. Frank acts like he's Owen's puppy, following him around, doing whatever he asks."

I made a face. Frank had never made for particularly enlightening company, but he was essentially a good guy. It rankled that Manu took advantage of him the way he did. He had Frank buy every meal they ate at the diner, run errands for him, and essentially behave like a numbskull lackey. I'd heard similar stories from around town.

"Hills would shelter Manu if he went to him?" the man pressed, disrupting my thoughts.

Caught off guard, I forgot that I was embarrassed for a second and looked right at him. He had Asiatic features and an expression that managed to look serious and tranquil at the same time. "Frank Hills would strap a rocket to his back and try to island hop if Owen asked him," I told him drily. "The man has trouble outthinking rocks, but he's loyal and always goes out of his way to help others."

The two people exchanged a look. Forgotten on the table, the phone let out an inquisitive, "Who's that?"

"The busboy," the Asian man supplied succinctly. His companion hid her smile behind her coffee cup.

"Oh, of course, the busboy," Danny mockingly berated himself. "I should have known— _What_ are you doing?!"

Finally, the mystery person made himself known. His voice was quiet, but confident and casual as he revealed, "About eighty-eight."

"Miles per hour?" the woman asked, leaning forward interestedly. The man sitting across from her rolled his eyes at the gleam in her gaze.

"_Don't_ answer her," Danny warned the person with him on the other end of the line. He sounded like he was contemplating strangling someone and holding on for dear life all at once. "Yes, Kono. This maniac is currently _slowing down_ from driving eighty-eight miles on the Kamehameha Highway!"

"There's no traffic, Danny!" the other guy objected. "And these guys are runners, you heard what they said about Manu—"

"WHY ARE YOU SPEAKING?"

Silence reigned on the other end of the phone. In the diner, the woman was giggling helplessly, trying to muffle it with her hands. The man shook his head, eyes laughing right along with her, and glanced over at me. I didn't know what to do with my face—smile, laugh, look terrified. It was hard to decide on which of my _normal_ reactions I should use to respond to the definitely _ab_normal episode I was witnessing.

"We should go check out Frank Hills," the sinewy Asian stated at length, the voice of calm and reason in their little whirlwind. "Danny, make sure to alert HPD to meet you at your destination. Manu had a stockpile of firearms at his place; his partner's probably the same or worse. You'll _need_ backup," he stressed.

I got the feeling he was talking to the crazy guy driving, not the overly-wrathful, outspoken Danny. While I stood there mutely, the dark haired man and pretty woman stood, grabbing their backpacks and the phone. Still holding it between them so that the woman could hear, the man assured, "We'll call if we get anything."

"Yeah. Us too," Danny agreed. Then he paused. "What the hell are you doing? We shouldn't be passing that turnoff for another ten minutes! I told you to slow down!"

"Bye boss! Bye Danny!" the woman said quickly. The man ended the call just as fast, but not before the beginnings of Danny's next shouts came over the line.

"Dammit, Steven, would you stop grinning and slow down? This is _not_ funny!"

At that, the woman's laughter had almost incapacitated her. Glancing blandly at her efforts to compose herself, the tall man looked at me with utter serenity on his face. "Do you think you could give us directions to Frank Hill's place?"

Meredith chose that time to come take their order. Seeing them standing up, packs on their backs, she frowned. Since I was the object of their attention, she obviously drew the conclusion that I was the reason they were leaving and glared hatefully at me. Doing my utmost not to look at her, I swallowed and nodded to the man, quickly rattling off the address and how to get there. While I talked, he pulled out his wallet and dropped money for the coffee on the table—and handed me the tip. Then he smiled his thanks and clapped me on the shoulder, heading for the door.

Following behind him, the woman paused beside me and glanced back over her shoulder. Meredith stood with her hands clenched at a not so discrete distance. From the looks of it, I could expect to be murdered in my bed that night. The woman's face when she turned back to me held complete comprehension of my…problem.

"Boss's kid, huh?" she murmured, keeping her voice low.

Busy ruminating on my coming demise, I nodded mutely and stared back at the vengeance glittering in Meredith's blue eyes. The girl had a tendency to take things too far. I'd say she was off her meds, but I doubted her doting parents would ever accept that she needed them in the first place. Either way, it didn't spell good things for me.

I started when the woman suddenly spun on her heel and walked back towards the booth. Then she was past it. Going…towards Meredith.

Dumbfounded by the turn of events, I watched as my worst nightmare was gently guided to stand at the other end of the diner. The two females appeared to be talking. I sent a nervous look back towards the man, but he was just waiting by the door, arms crossed complacently.

The minutes stretched out. I started to get extremely nervous, vacillating between grabbing my bucket and finishing my rounds and staying to find out what was going on. Meredith was standing very still; the woman seemed to be doing most of the talking. The only indication I had of what was going on was the way Meredith's shoulders kept getting tenser.

Then, just as suddenly as the interview had started, it was over. The woman walked back towards me, leaving Meredith seemingly frozen in her spot, facing away from me. I stared at the back of the blond vixen in open mystification while the other woman stopped in front of me again. A card appeared from somewhere on her person, small and white. Pressing it into my fingers, she patted her other on my shoulder.

"Girls like that exist to give the rest of the world migraines," she declared, straightening out a crinkle in my shirt absently. "She was ready to deck you for just getting someone's attention instead of her." She grinned, expression full of mischief. "We'll see if I managed to fix that."

I automatically smiled back. Fix Meredith? It seemed impossible, but I was willing to hope. I felt the need to vocalize that, but she breezed away before I had a chance to jumpstart my brain and mutter some form of coherent English in response. The man, seeing her coming, held the door open for her and sent a final nod in my direction. Then he followed her out.

The bell jingled. Meredith jolted and moved towards the back at a much more subdued pace than her normal. And I was alone. Mostly.

Blinking at the unanticipated turn of events, I turned slowly back to my bucket where it sat waiting on the table and sighed. As I reached out to pick it back up, though, something prevented a few of my fingers from flexing.

The card.

Frowning over how easily I'd forgotten about it, I flipped over the little business-style paper and scanned its contents. As I realized what it said, my eyebrows promptly skyrocketed into my hairline.

The card was for an Officer Kono Kalakaua, member of the Governor's Elite Task Force. Or something like that. I didn't process what it said verbatim because as soon as I saw the special shield and her name, I knew who she was and what team she worked with. Close on the heels of that realization came an even more interesting thought.

If the woman was Kono Kalakaua, then that made the man with her Chin Ho Kelly—her partner according to the news coverage on the team. And the two on the phone could only be Detective Williams and the infamous McGarrett. I breathed out a quiet, shocked exhalation.

All of them. I'd been in some sort of contact with _every_ member of Kono's awe-inspiring team _all at once_. While they were _on a case_. In _my home town_. Which I had _helped them with_. How many non-criminals on the islands got that lucky? I grinned broadly. I knew the answer to that, I realized as I tucked the precious card carefully into my pocket.

Feeling almost giddy, I reached for my box of dishes with more enthusiasm than I ever had before and went back to work with a bouncing step. Forget my problems. I _loved_ my job. I'd just met friggin' Five-0, for crying out loud.

Even better: Meredith had, too. I chuckled to myself at the concept.

I was probably the only busboy to ever get an assist from the most kickass female cop in Hawaii.

_And_ I had her number.

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**All rightie. So, that was written, edited, and posted in less than three hours. I'm sorry for all resulting sadness you might find. **

**Again, I just want to thank everybody for reading, reviewing, and rocking! You guys are the best!**

**LOTS of Hugs,**

**Knyle B.**


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